County Prostitute II: Big Spender

My dad ran an apartment complex, I helped out. Then, I found out what used to go on there, when he went legit… #Gay4Pay #Pros

He had these 2 guys next door. Cops, but undercover, I guess their cover story being they were just gay, and liked to dress like Magnum PI. Hawaiian shirts, 80s porn star mustaches, neat haircuts. Plain brown unmarked car, instead of a Ferrari, though

They were there, unofficially, to make sure that he wasn’t turning a blind eye to the call girls using the place as a base of operations. Back when it was a motel, he used to have a “Yacht.” A party boat really, but the kinds of parties you had to drive out to international waters for.

They didn’t card the girls, most of them were young. Too young to drive, let alone drink, or appear in the private movie they made while a professional camera crew was in town. That made it childporn, even in international waters. They couldn’t get him on statutory rape, but that gave them leverage to cut a deal.

They gave him immunity on production and distribution of childporn, in return for all his records. He kept on the Banditos, a biker gang that ran meth to the inner city from the redneck cousin fuckers cooking it up out in the sticks. The new mayor got his new african American sheriff up to make a big speech about being “Tough on crime,” and cleaning up the whole county.

All that pretty much revolved around the Courtyard Motel. Where I grew up, my mom, and dad used to manage it, then my mom divorced him, and hung herself in the bathroom while I was at school. Called the cops, so I didn’t see the body until the funeral, so I moved back home to the Courtyard Suites Apartments.

In the mean time, my old man had bought it at police auction, and converted it over to long term rentals only. I helped out for a few years, and skipped college to start a career as a handyman. At least until I inherited the property, but when I got back to town, I didn’t bother going back to school.

I dropped out, and thought about maybe getting my GED from the community college, but I was so fucked up, depressed, and going through the motions that I never bothered. There was this bar, across the road. It used to be a family diner until all this scandal came out, so they closed down for a while too.

Nobody wanted to take their family out to dinner there, unless they lived in the apartments. Month to month, but it became a haven mostly for truckers, and homosexuals. The cops keeping an eye on my pop, to make sure he stayed legit. The gay cops hung out there, so there wasn’t a lot of prostitution allowed, but you could find a date if you wanted to.

I suppose, I got a little bi-curious. They were gay, and practically married, just never bothered to get the certificate. They just weren’t, you know, girly about it. Men’s men, or butch if I may be so bold as to use such a term. You know, being a straight guy, I tried not to judge, but a little part of me is even jealous of them.

They seemed to have it all figured out, while I’m a fuckup, and try not to feel like such a loser, but that doesn’t help very much. “Denial doesn’t change anything,” but recently I’d started thinking about them, with my hard cock in my hand, and their pastel colored, floral, or paisley print shirts unbuttoned. Their undershirts pulled tight over their hairy chests, and their strong arms around each other.

Must be nice to have a body like that, in the mirror, and another one just like it right in front of you. To feel with rough hands, and tight shorts bulging with arousal. There was this guy, another guy, I’d seen around the bar with men. Young men, not teens but guys about my age, and young looking. Smoking out on the porch, and talking over beers while some band was playing inside.

I was old enough to drink, but John. He was a big spender, no mustache, but that rough 5 o’clock shadow, neatly trimmed, and the same kinda body as the partners. The cops, in apartment 101, right next to my dad’s office. A receding hairline, that pulled it to a corner, pointing down between his eyebrows. Crow’s feet marking the corners of eyes, like they’d been planned out by a carpenter, and they just left the lines. Wrincles that appeared around his mouth when he (smiles) like dimples, and a big fat roll in his pocket when he came bye with money.

If I was gay, I’d want a guy like that, and even being straight, I wished I could get a body like that. Nature left me tall, and skinny, with a baby face. Finally, I just stopped looking at him in between the bottles behind the bar, and took my beer over to his table, in the corner.

“Drinking alone tonight?” It was payday, so he bought a round for everyone when he came in, alone.

“Yeah, unless you want to join me.” He waved to the chair next to him, and then the bartender when I pulled it out.

“I’m straight, but. I can’t help how good you look, in those muscle shirts, and you work out.” Not a question.

“Yeah,” he looked up, “CanIgetanother frozen Sangria, and another beer for Trey here?”

“Actually, I’ll have what he’s having.” I downed my beer, and handed her the bottle.

“Sure thing.”

“Of course I work out, it’s my job.”

“Oh what do you do?”

“Personal trainer at Rally fitness, downtown.”

“Oh, that must pay pretty good.”

“I do all right.” That’s his German roadster out front. It may look like a rebadged Miata with some vents cut in the sides in front of the door, but it had a straight 6, and a turbo like a Supra.

“So, you come to talk about cars all night?” He finished his drink, and mine melted, so I just shot it, without worrying about getting a headache. At least until I woke up the next morning.

“No, but if you don’t want to drive home tonight. I’ve got a place across the street, you can spend the night?”

“Yeah, all right.” He pulled out his roll to pay the tab, which was pretty steep with the opening round, but he just snapped the rubber band back over it, and tucked it back in his pants.

Outside, “Nice night.” He looked up, and stepped off the porch. “You can see the stars, with the new moon, and all.”

“Yeah, uh. You know, money’s been tight lately.”

“Huh, yeah. You know, I’ve had an eye on you, ever since you’re yay high.” He held his hand out, about halfway between his ribs, and his hip. “Cute little cocksucker, but you sure grew up pretty.”

“Yeah, thanks but. I wasn’t, I mean. I’m not.”

“A cocksucker?”

“Not yet, but there’s a break in traffic.”

You wouldn’t think that there’s be much rush hour, this late, on a Wednesday night, but then again, you wouldn’t think that he got payed on Wednesdays, or being straight. I don’t know, bi curious?

“Huh!” I caught up, but I just got to watch him run across 4 lanes of traffic, mostly 18 wheelers at this hour, but none of them stopped. “Huh, you look even better in the starlight. Your shoulders shining in the sodium vapor.”

“Huhuh. You writing a novel?” I felt his arms, and he held my hips, looking up at me. He’s not really short, maybe 5’11, but with my 6’2″ I kinda like the fact that I can lean down a little, and kiss him.

“Snh! Hm.” He’s a good kisser, too. “Maybe a raunchy story on the internet, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, but how much money we talking about here?” He just rubbed my hips, through my teeshirt, with his thumbs.

“Oh,” I looked around the parking lot. “Well, we better get inside, where we can talk about it.”

I don’t give a shit about my old man, the look he gave me through the office window. Making out with a bodybuilder in the parking lot. I put my arm around his shoulder, and flew a finger back at him. nlm What is he going to do, kick me out? “I don’t know, what’s the going rate for this kinda thing?”

If he wants to judge me, call me faggot, then we can have that little talk about his party boat, and sex orgies with underage prostitutes he used to have on it. I got my keys out, and as agreed, we waited to get inside, before we really talked about money.

“Keep your shirt on. Uh, sorry,” I couldn’t help a dirty little grin, “I really want to take it off.”

“All right,” he sat on the bed. My bed, where I have to admit I dreamed about him, and woke up with a raging boner to beat off right there, and go back to sleep. Not just him, honestly more girls than guys, but of all the options, well. I knew he didn’t have any problems with paying a lot of money for a little piece of ass.

“I guess it depends how far you want to go.”

“All the way if the price is right.” I turned around, but looked back. He looked down, fishing in his pocket for that fat wad, but I didn’t see any bulge in his crotch, and it wasn’t even close to the first time I wondered how big it is. Is he circumcised, does he shave it?

He pulled the rubber band back, think and blue, like it came off of a bunch of celery, or maybe a newspaper? “How about a hundred bucks, if you bottom.”

“Huh,” I shook my head, and my hips. Sticking my thumbs in my pockets, just to pull my pants even tighter.

“Maybe $150?”

“Huh, I know you can do better than that.” I’m teasing him, and loving it.

“Two hundred.”

“Hhuh huh!” I guess the first time, I ever even heard about a bisexual man, it was in an interview, with Jon Bon Jovi. “Deal, you want me to take off my clothes, or your’s first?”

“Why don’t you start with mine?”

The interviewer asked if it was true, the rumors about his sexuality, and he just said “A hole’s a hole.”

“Okay,” he set his wad back on the night stand, but he folded the bills in half, and stuck them in my pocket. My back pocket, I ran my hand up his leg, and his shirt. His perfect 6 pack, and even stopped to wiggle my fingertip around his belly button. He didn’t let go of my hip, but he slipped his fingers out of my pocket, and turned his hand around, to rub my buttock, and grip it.

Also, you know that song, “Dead or Alive?” The old outlaws, they used to tear down their wanted posters, but it’s easy enough to imagine them folding them up, and tucking one in their vest. With pride in the price on their head.

Everyone wants to feel wanted, so I started robbing stage coaches, and now I’m Wanted all over the territory. “Huh, it’s not as hard as I thought.” But it’s warm, firm, a little damp with sweat, and even hairy with a landing strip, between the navel, and the front of his pants. He took my wrist, and moved it down.

“How ’bout now.”

“Now that,” I had to laugh, with a squeeze. “That’s exactly as hard as I expected.”

“Well, I’m not paying you for comedy. Go on, don’t be shy.”

“Huh, I’m excited. Honestly, god. It’s so hard!” I got his fly open, and his. Boxer briefs? “Where do you get underwear like this?” Graphite grey.

“Academy.”

“Spandex?”

“Cotton/lycra blend.” He nodded.

“Huh.” They’re not like biker shorts, and yet they are stretchy like them, and they’ve got the same pocket fly as briefs, but I pulled the crotch out. Down, and the exposed head slipped back. Or the skin slipped back up over the exposed head from getting pulled down by the waistband.

He looked down, then back up. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” I’ve seen a foreskin before, but I never touched it. Pulled it back, to let this, odor. I wrinkled my nose, it’s not a pleasant odor. “Huh, I’ve got rubbers.” I pulled the drawer out, but that just knocked the wad fall over, and roll off the side. I picked that up. “Lube, and a buttplug. Huh, in case we need it, to loosen up.”

I just set his money right back where it was, and kept the drawer open. “I’ve actually been thinking about this, for. Well, a long long time.”

“Well, this has been going on here, for a long long time. You know, I lost my cherry here, too?” He looked around, kicking his pants off, and holding his prick, to roll the hat on. “Well, not right here in this very room. Probably, I don’t remember which one it was, but I started out hustling.”

“For money.”

“Yeah, for money. I didn’t make no $200.00 dollars for my cherry, I’ll tell you that.” He gave me a nice pat with his fingers. “But you’re worth it. I knew that if I was patient, you only get older, and readier.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Oh, I know. Huh, honestly, that just makes it even sexier. I’m straight, and most of the guys I’ve fucked were straight, too.”

“Why do we do it?”

“I don’t know about you, but it’s probably not. Well, most guys just want to top. Feel dominant, and they get bored topping females, so to prove a point.” He rolled his eyes, but not like a girl at all. “Once you climb to the top of Everest, either you can climb back down, or learn to fly. The only thing that’s better than topping a woman is topping a man.”

“Yeah, it must make them feel like even more of an alpha, but you’re right. You know headhunters? Like bounty hunters, in the wild west.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the outlaws, they had a price on their head, but now.” I took his other hand, and put it on my other hip. “I have a price on my ass. I can look at myself in the mirror, turn around, and say with pride that I’ve got a two hundred dollar ass.”

“You could’ve held out for more, but why don’t you take off these pants, and let me get a better look, at this two hundred dollar ass.”

“Okay.” I turned around again, but this time pulled out the waist, “You payed for it.” Popped the button through, and ripped the zipper open, loudly. “Hhuh!” Bending over, and moving my hips, in time to the song in my head.

It’s all the same, only the names’ll change.
Every day, it seems we’re wastin’ away.
I know the place, where the faces are so cold.
I travel all night, just to get back home…

;

Philip 66 [Text]

[That’s for Route 66. Not my birth year, and I don’t want you thinking I’m 66, with an old color photograph touched up for my profile pic.

I’m straight, but metrosexual? I don’t know, but I do know I’m young, pretty, and some men find that attractive. I’ve been hit on enough times, and I always said no, until I got sick of saying no, I guess.

There’s this guy, at work. I barback, at a roadside bar across the street from a motel. I don’t know if you’d call it a Roadhouse, but we got live music on weekends, a jukebox for the rest of the week, and he always asked what section I was working.

He never came on too strong, which is what I liked. A lot of guys, they kinda turned me off by being too aggressive, but about the most he ever said was “It sure is a shame you’re straight,” and I found myself getting turned on by it.

I know I’m a pretty boy, they used to call me babyface when I was a kid, and when I got to high school. The girls called me cute, even the cutest guy in school, and I guess I hated it, until I got used to it.

You know, being a guy, you’re not supposed to be cute, you’re supposed to Be a Man. Cute’s girly shit, they want to be pretty, but not me, right? I guess I heard that as an insult, “Pretty boy” so much, I hated that too.

And faggot. I got called faggot a lot, so I had to cut my hair. The 80s were over, hair bands went out of style, then it got all edgy, and Alternative. Grunge, and subcultures like Goth, Rave, Emo, or whatever.

I guess I got stuck in the late 80s, with the music I grew up listening to. George Michael, INXS, Bon Jovi, and what do all of those have in common? Metrosexuality, I guess you’d called it. There’s this androgyny that’s just subtle enough that guys can listen to it, and ignore George Michael’s ass, pulling on a leather jacket with [Freedom] across the back to get to the models lip synching naked in a bathtub.

I never had that freedom, really. So, I guess I got confused, I knew what sexy was: Girls, hell I was a teenager, and teenage girls. It didn’t really matter what they wore, did to their hair, or color they painted their nails. I had a boner, so I stuck it in any one that would hold still, and let me. What I was confused about was what made boys sexy.

I didn’t know how, to talk to girls, and get them to sleep with me. I just did it. Talk to them, like normal people, and we wound up in bed, back seats, a locker once, and that was uncomfortable, but we managed to pull it off. For a while there, I guess I was pretty much a slut, but now I can tell you the secret. Now that I figured it out:

There ain’t none. If she likes you, then anything you can say can only fuck it up, but if she doesn’t. Well, I heard that “Chicks dig confidence.” From the same dickhead douchebags that tell betas to avoid the #Friendzone now, so they won’t try to talk to their girlfriends. Ask your girlfriend if relationship advice from guys that don’t want you to get laid is right for you.

I got lied to, in the boy’s room, we all did. “You looking at my dick?”

“No?”

Pretty boy, get a haircut, you look like a girl, faggot. So, then I got out of high school, and my friends, well? I guess they’ll let the Spice Girls explain it to you:

“If you want my future, forget my past.
If you wanna get with me, better make it fast.
Now don’t go wasting my precious time.
Get your act together, we could be just fine.

…

If you want to be my lover, first you have to be my friend.”

I didn’t have girlfriends, I had friends, that let me be myself. My best pickup line was “Did you have any trouble with the homework?” On our way to class.

I got horny, my friends got horny, we’re teenagers, and since I hung out with girls, I was the only guy they could jump, when they got horny. That’s it, but then I got out of high school, I didn’t have money for college, they did, and my steady supply of pussy dried up.

The next couple of years, between turning 18, and 21, I just kinda waited out. Coasting, looking for work, and then I heard about this bar. Outside of city limits, where they didn’t card you, so you didn’t have to be 21. So, I started drinking, and my guy friends. They took one look around, decided “This place is gay.” Left, and never came back.

It wasn’t exactly a Gay Bar. It was just a bar, outside of city limits, where people could go, because there weren’t any gay bars in town. Where you could be yourself, drink underage, and there’s a Motel across the street. Low rates, so if you want to sleep it off, or just use one of the rooms for an hour, it’s like $20.00. Maybe on top of whatever you negotiate for a piece of ass.

Real popular with truckers, bikers, homosexuals, and lesbians. Yes, technically lesbians are homosexual, but they’re polar opposites. Because they don’t sleep with the opposite sex, there’s a real gulf between homosexuals, and lesbians. They don’t sit together, drink together, and it’s funny how a bar like that ends up being like the lunch room at school.

Also, there’s the whole straight male double standard, because straight guys tell you to be a man, lesbians are hot, and homos are degenerate perverts that’ll burn in hell, but lesbos. Can we watch?

Lets just say that I learned to sympathize real quick. I’d heard stories, from the girls about that guy. Those guys, creepy guys, or just guys that thought girls like Confidence. No, they’re turned off by nervousness, passive-aggressive stalking, getting lied to to get in their pants, promised forever for 1 night, and you know what else?

Arrogance. Whoever told you chicks dig confidence, I’ll just bet he was a fucking Narcissist. That doesn’t know the difference between confidence, and arrogance. Well, when I turned 21, I could start working at a bar, and being pretty, young looking. I started working the gay section, because that’s where the best tips were.

So yeah, I know what it’s like. When you walk past a construction site, in yoga pants? Yeah, I know what that feels like. I got those comments too, the pats on the butt, and I smiled. Flirted, and came back to work in tight jeans because I got $50.00 tips, just for that. This took me back to what makes a man sexy:

Whatever they like. To girls, whatever they like. Guys, whatever they like. I’m tall skinny, and pretty. Some girls like that, some guys like that, and some of them like big hairy muscle hunks with rippling abs. Some like bears. Big fat hairy guys with shaved heads, and walrus mustaches like Jamie Hyneman?

From Mythbusters. Yeah, he’s got a wife, and kids, but he works, and lives in San Francisco, and he wears a fucking Beret. A Bear eh? Yeah, some guys like that. Some women like that, but I understand that’s an acquired taste. So mostly mature women are into that, while girls tend to like one of the socially acceptable norms.

The bad boy, the sensitive guy, the intellectual hipster, the hunk/jock, the nerdy virgin and me. The pretty boy.

You know what’s not on that list? The fucking rapist. The bad boy that calls you slut when he brags to all his friends, so they can hit you up later. The “Romantic” guy that acts sensitive, then cheats on you with all your friends. The airbrushed douchebag fuckboy with so many notches on his belt, it’s starting to look like lace. The frat boy with a wall full of trophies, a condom, and a dose of Rohypnol in his pocket just in case you get cold feet. The neckbeard that dresses up like Stranger Danger to hide his gut, and isn’t well, Actually all that attractive. The pretty boy that asks you if you’re a model? You ever thought about doing any modeling? In your underwear? Okay, then you can take that off.

Yeah, that’s creepy, predatory, dishonest, and downright obvious. Not to mention sexist, not because they see women as sex dispensers, but because it’s assumed that they’re so brainless that they can’t see through the thin veneer of charm, muscles, intellectual pretense, or lectures on fashion choices to teenage girls from some guy that subconsciously cosplays as Stranger Danger to tell them that #NotAllMen are like that. (Because you know, actually teenage girls don’t know anything about the metasignals in FASHION.)

Honestly, I found John refreshing. He took Sports Medicine, and worked as a Massage Therapist, where he got a boner rubbing down divorcees in yoga pants. Fucked them too, so we could relate. He was kind of a mashup of sensitive guy, in the Jock’s body, with the quiet confidence of a hipster, but the brilliance of a nerd, and I thought he was the guy I always wanted.

To be, the man I always wanted. To be. The body I always wanted, to feel if those biceps were really rock hard, and those tight buns. I woke up dreaming about, and jacked off, so I could go back to sleep. I was confused, but I wasn’t gay. I wasn’t even gay for him, and neither was he.

He held up his hand, to turn his ring around on his finger. “I’m married, but we don’t have kids, yet.” mid 20s, I didn’t ask how old he was, but not pushing 30 yet. “But we’re working on it.” 😉 He finished his beer, dropped it in the bus pan. (Barback is a busboy at a bar) and waved to the bartender for another.

I made the rounds, smiled, and flirted, but I always stopped at his table to ask. “So, why do you hang out here?”

“With my friends?” He waved around, “Because I like them. Gay men.”

“We love you too, honey.”

“Thanks,” he turned back, and wiped lipstick off his cheek. “They just drop the bullshit. What you see is what you get, and none of them is going to try anything, again. I shot them all down, one bye one, but you know what?” He pointed at the bar with his longneck. “I don’t have to buy her a drink.”

“No, she’s had enough.” Not a divorcee, a widow. Too young to lose her husband, and decided not to grieve at all. Just stop on Denial, drown her sorrow in free drinks, and dick, because she’s young, attractive, and she can. Until she hits thirty, and has to figure out some other way to cope.

“Well, she hasn’t even looked over here, not once. Because I’m a hunk sitting next to a bear.” He put his arm out, “And a drag queen.” 3 way group hug. “So, I don’t have to deal with her.”

“Don’t run off sweety, I almost finished my martini.”]

;

Philly (MM)

“Uh!” I didn’t even realize I was hard again, “Huh uhfuck!”

For once, I actually opened my eyes, and looked down to see his hand slow down. “HhuhHhuh!”

They tried to shut again, but I managed to keep them cracked. To see the cum jet out, and leave streaks across his panting abs, the firm shelf of his chest, and his smile. He put his arm up, under the pillow, and let his eyes close. Sleepily, which just made his rough face look even more kissable.

“Snh, smooch.” He felt my arm, and gently pressed my shoulder. “Get off.”

“Again, uh!” I shuddered, “Hhuh!” When he slipped out hard, and brushed back and forth across my buttocks. My ass slammed shut, and he carefully picked at the ring on the bottom. Slipped it off, so that it turned inside out, and tossed it without looking off the bed.

Then, he took a deep breath through his nose, and I could feel it filling his chest. Turning to put my head down, listen to him breathing while he rubbed my back with one hand, and stroked the skin up and down over the head with the other. Slowly, but quickly picking up the pace, and I didn’t want to take my eyes off the head, winking at me, so I felt his abs.

Flexing, and relaxing with his breath, and playing with the streaks from my orgasm. My second orgasm of the night. “Huh, you know that I’ve never cum twice, in the same sitting?”

“You and your damned puns.” He was really waling on it, and his breaths were cumming so fast, and shallow. “Huh, uh if you weren’t so pretty.” He fondles me “With that two hundred dollar ah huh! HUH!”

I just closed my eyes, and listened to his heart beat. So fast, but then it slowed down, and pumped his blood through his muscular body, the hot white spurts like arterial gushes all over his tummy to join mine, so that when I cracked my eyes. Afraid that I might get it in one, I couldn’t tell them apart. “HhuhHhuh!”

I love that sound, the ragged shuddering breath of satisfaction. “Whew!” He patted my ass. “You mind if I take a shower?”

“No,” I let him up, “Make yourself at home.” Such as it is, but I thought. I might have to take a dump, or something. I almost stepped on the condom, but at least the shit was on the inside, and he didn’t cum on it. Up my ass, with his thick dick up my ass.

“Huh!” I grabbed my glasses, and shut the drawer. The buttplug rolled back, and I propped open my computer to write. While it was fresh in my head, I do some of my best thinking. Well, fantasizing, while I’m having sex.

[He started out, so gentle, and he never got rough enough to hurt me, but as soon as I got my clothes off, I joined him on the bed. He held our dicks together, min on top of his, and my balls hung down against his.

I guess I’m an inch or 2 longer, but his is a bit thicker, especially around the bottom. It tapers slightly, so he’s got a normal sized head, clad in. The manliest fucking skin there ever was. Huh, I feel a little cheated now, for being circumcised at birth, but yeah. Uncut cock, they really should stop ruining so many penises like that.

I don’t even know if you can call it beautiful, but I certainly think so. Maybe that’s why I always thought they looked weird, but I never thought there was something missing. Even when I’d seen other boys, mostly flaccid, those looked weird, and alien to me too. Weird that, having a dick, they always looked like something from another planet, unless I had a hard-on to play with.

Huh, he sucked me off, for free. I didn’t have the heart to charge him a blowjob, on the receiving end, but he asked. “How much to suck you off?” I stopped him before he even picked up his wad, but. God, damn, can that man suck a dick! It took forever, which is a good thing, because for a while there, I didn’t want it to end, and finally when it did. I was a little disappointed.

Of course, that was just the beginning, but instead of a facial, or swallowing the load in his mouth. He stopped, and jerked me off. He did that a lot, sucked it to get it wet, and stroked it until it started to dry out, feel sticky, and a little too rough. I can’t really say whether it was really a blowjob so much as a hand-job with spit, but he caught it in his hand.

I’d done that, to eat it myself, but of course I’d never stuck my jizm in the other end. “Now, I’m gonna fuck you with your own cum.”

“Oh!” That’s why he caught it in his hand, instead of his mouth, or shot it all over his face. Well, he payed for my ass, but I would have liked to have given him a facial.]

“Huh,” I don’t know. Seeing both our loads, mixing all over his abs, and feeling him breathe.

[He’s a personal trainer, maybe I can get abs like that, at least. The sex, the anal sex.]

“Hhuh!”

[How can I describe it? I can’t, but it wasn’t fucking. It doesn’t sound sexy, but I pretty much just sat down on it. He just held me there, and I started feeling him up, but at some point, I just let my mind wander. All the times I tried it before, with my fingers, the toilet paper holder, and anything else I could get in there, before I bought the butt-plug. I tried to fuck myself with that too, but now I don’t really think that’s what it’s designed for.

Dufus, the name butt-plug should have given it way. You’re supposed to just stick it in there, and leave it in there, I guess. I always felt my sphincter spasm. I even enjoyed the tight squeezing around, whatever I had in there, and I stopped fucking when I started cumming, but this time.

This time it wasn’t me. It wasn’t my body getting the stripes, and i guess there is a little vanity mirror there. I didn’t even try to imagine that was me, shooting a load up my body, I know it doesn’t look like that. Feel like that, I’m still skinny, and pale. Not tanned, and hairy, broad, and muscular, firm, and alive with twitches, and.]

“Hun?” He’s still here, of course. he just went to take a shower, and came out with a towel on.

“What’re you writing?” He bent down, “You weren’t kidding about writing a story on the internet.”

“Yeah, but it’s not about you, and me. It’s a complete fantasy, but I got to the point where. I tried to write about stuff, based on my own life experiences, but I had nothing to write about, when it came to having sex with a man.”

“Here,” he reached over, and pulled out my laptop to run his finger around the touch pad. Tapped the pointer in the Address bar, and typed in his Email address. “Why don’t you send me the draft when you’re done with it?”

I took it back, and saved it to Contacts, but i just Compose in Gmail, because I can access it from anywhere. For instance at the Library, they have filters to keep you from looking up porn in public, which means I can’t post stories to [Sexstories69.com]

“I’ll send you a link to where I’ve posted the start of it.”

“Huh,” he came around the bed, and picked up his roll of bills from the bedside table. “You really should have held out for more.” He pulled another bill out, I didn’t even bother checking the denomination on it.

[It’s not even about the money any more,] I typed, [But I’m not going to turn that down, either….]

“Philip66?” He tapped into his phone.

“Yeah, but that’s for the highway.”

“Yeah, Route 66,” nowhere near here, though. “Not the gas station.”

“You want to do this again some time?”

“Yeah, when I have the money.”

“No, don’t worry about the money. You want to do me again, any time, for fun. Just let me know.”

“Okay.”

He left, so I turned back to the screen, and scrolled up, to see where I was in the story…

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