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Only One Way To Go (mm)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
ONLY ONE WAY TO GO
Copyright © 1994 by Christine Faltz.
This story may be distributed electronically in its entirety.
My cousin is visiting for the week, before he goes off
and joins the Marines. I like him well enough in general,
but I know he's a homophobe, so we aren't close. Not that
I've told him I'm gay or anything -- I prefer the closet,
thank you. My father's a man with a violent temper and I'm
no fighter. There's no use attempting to "out" myself and
look for acceptance in my family -- they're a bunch of
under-educated redneck bastards. I just received my
acceptance letter from Harvard, and I'll be heading up there
early this summer; I'll get a job as a waiter if I have to
-- the sooner I am out of here, the better.
My mother died after a car accident when I was three.
Since then, my father and I have lived a relatively peaceful
if estranged existence. He hired nannies and babysitters
while he flew here and there on business. The nannies were
men and women; black and white; old and young; and I liked
to think, straight and gay. My dad came home one time to
find one of my sitters -- a guy -- leafing through an issue
of the _Advocate_. My father began beating the shit out of
the guy. I came downstairs from my bedroom to see the
sitter sitting calmly on the sofa, holding an ice-pack to
his eye, while my father groaned on the floor. Apparently,
Chuck -- that was the guy's name I think -- had turned the
tables on Dad. I never saw that sitter again.
I remember my dad asking me all sorts of questions that
night. I was five and had no idea what he was talking
about. He asked if Chuck had done "anything weird" to me
while giving me my bath before bed. Did he wash my butt a
lot more than other people? Did he tell me to do things to
him and scare me with threats if I told anybody? These
questions went on for weeks, popping up every once in a
while. When I grew old enough to realize not only that I
was gay but that my father had believed that Chuck had
molested me ONLY for that reason and no other, I vowed never
to out myself to my father. I also vowed to get the hell
away from him as soon as I could.
*** *** ***
The Blue Star is an hour's drive from Lakeview. After
waving goodbye to my cousin as he sped away with a girl I
had set him up with, I get in my car and head right for the
Star. You have to be 21 to get in, but I had a fling last
summer with the bouncer, Tony, and he lets me in anyway. I
head straight for the dance floor and I see who I hoped I
would see.
"Hey, Mike!"
Mike Washington turns towards me. My breath catches as
his obsidian eyes and gold-tinted lashes meet my enraptured
gaze. His dark skin contrasts beautifully with his
lavender-and-white suit, tailored to perfection. My eyes
drink in his well-muscled legs and powerful chest. We move
towards each other simultaneously and he grasps me in a
steel embrace.
The music, the lights, the clinking of glasses and the
roar of laughter, conversation and music all disappear and I
am surrounded by the sight, touch, taste and scent of him as
we cling to each other and kiss. Our tongues greet each
other with hot urgency, dancing against each other's mouths,
first together, then apart, seeking the love and comfort of
familiar sensations and hoping for the possibility of new
discoveries. Mike's hand brushes my crotch, his fingers
digging into the bulge beneath my slacks. I moan deep in my
throat and push myself against his hand. My skin burns for
his touch while chils race down my back at the same instant.
I ache for the feel of our naked bodies rubbing against one
another. Mike's tongue flicks across my closed eyelids in
small circles, then down my face -- each cheek, each ear.
He pauses, dipping his tongue ever so gently inside my ears,
then thrusting in and out until he has me shivering against
him and clinging to him as I shudder with pleasure. His
tongue continues its descent as he dances me across the
floor. He pushes my head back with one hand and his warm
tongue darts back and forth across my throat. My cock aches
for the feel of his mouth and that talented tongue. His
hand drops inside my pants as he maneuvers me through the
crowd ringing the dance floor and past the bar. He nods at
Tony as we back through the door.
Mike lifts me and carries me across the parking lot.
The night is cool and sweet-smelling, the sounds of the Blue
Star receding as Mike heads for his car. Holding me easily
with one arm, he unlocks the back door on the driver's side
and places me gently on the seat. He climbs in with me and
closes the door. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I watch
as he drapes sheets across each window. When he has
finished, he turns once more to me and slides his hand up my
left leg until he reaches the promise of my hard cock
stretching the fabric of my slacks. He slips his hand
inside and I wiggle out of my pants as he tugs down on them.
He pulls them over my feet and removes my loafers and socks.
He pulls out two of those "Wash 'n Dry" packets they give
you at places where they serve messy finger food, and washes
down my feet. He begins massaging each foot, his large,
warm, strong hands kneading the tension from my toes, then
the balls of my feet. He lifts one foot to his mouth and
spreads my toes with his tongue, darting it around and
between, then sucking at the toes themselves.
"I want you to imagine I'm sucking your dick, George,"
he murmurs seductively. "Imagine it; my mouth has your
whole dick in it, right down to your balls, baby."
I can easily imagine this. AFter all, I have had my
dick in Mike's mouth a few times before, and it is an
extremely welcome image. His tongue swipes along the soles
of my feet, up between the toes, then over the tops of my
feet. He works on them for about twenty minutes, and I am
begging him to make the image real, to come get my cock and
take it in his mouth.
Instead, he drops his pants and gets up onto his knees,
presenting me with his cock.
"Lick it, George; lick it good. That's a good boy."
*** *** ***
I want him so badly; my balls are roasting with the
need for him. His tongue closing over my dick is such sweet
relief; I close my eyes, moaning my pleasure. I shoved
myself in deeper, telling him to take it all the way. He
pulls me in, his mouth hot and tight around me. I reach for
his dick and start pumping hard. His lips close tightly
around me, his teeth grazing me. He feels my muscles tense
as I prepare to come and he lets my dick move back a few
inches -- he doesn't want me to shoot straight down his
throat -- he wants to feel it rush into his mouth and taste
it as he struggles to swallow every drop. I flood his
mouth, spurt after spurt of my response to his loving touch
flows from me.
The way his hands grab at me and the way his body moves
demonstrate louder than words that he has lost all desire to
have me return the favor. He wants to go deeper then that
-- he wants to reach into me much further, much more
intimately. I reach down and push the lever at the side of
the passenger seat; it springs forward with a light thump.
I grasp the top of the seat and bend over it, presenting him
with what he has earned. I feel his fingers,
well-lubricated with K-Y, drive into my anus. With his
other hand, he strokes my balls. When all is well-lathered,
he presses the tip of his cock against me, teasing me by
rubbing it back and forth, up and down. He starts to enter,
then pulls out, my excitement and need building. It is my
turn to beg now. Finally, after what seems like hours, he
thrusts inside me, grabbing my shoulders and riding me
wildly.
"Oh, yes! Do it, baby! Harder, baby!"
I moan and beg and encourage him to go harder and
faster. He tires more easily than I -- he doesn't work out
like I do, but he can fuck fine and fast for a long while.
I feel myself building up again, another climax just
over the horizon. I feel him shudder just before he cries
out, and I close my eyes as the gush of hot semen shoots
deep inside me.
When we manage to catch our breath, the teasing, the
tension-building, the loving climb toward fulfillment will
begin again. For now, we lay clasped in one another's arms,
contented.
--
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