MY LOVE'S ETERNAL TEETH
by Ron Mendricks
I never used to suck. It wasn't something guys ever asked me to do. It's because of the size of my cock, I think. It's not all that huge. A handful. Now that I think of it, it's more than a handful. Two handfuls. Okay, it is huge. So if a guy wants to have sex with me, I usually get all the attention, that is, sucked. I like it when some guy kneels between my legs and adores my meat. I even like the scraping and gouging. Their clumsy, sometimes painful attentions help get me off. Getting scraped is just part of it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I wanted to tell you about Carlos and if I start talking about my dick I may not stop. I can't help it. It's my most impressive feature. And it led me to Carlos. And eternal love.
The Los Angeles area in those days had movie stars and Mexicans and not a whole lot else. Oranges. Desert. One continuous season. When I was twelve Alfredo moved in down the block. His family was Mexican. Alfredo, my age, took an instant liking to me. I think I know why. Alfredo seemed to know I had what I had. Sometimes we'd be playing cards or something and I'd be kneeling there and a card would fall into the space between my legs. Alfredo would say, "Let me," and his hand would dive down there and his arm would have to brush against my dick to get the card back. It was a game within a game. I loved the attention, so I dropped cards periodically, just to keep him interested. In bed at night, I'd stroke myself, thinking of Alfredo's arm pushing on me with his hand frozen on that card. I finally asked Alfredo to sleep over. I didn't have anything like sleep in mind. I was pretty confident Alfredo would do just about anything I wanted him to do, especially if it had something to do with my cock.
We wasted no time in the tree house, but climbed directly to my room. Without a word I locked the door, sat him down on the bed, and hauled out my dick. Putting my dick in Alfredo's mouth gave me a curious confidence in myself; I thought of myself as a pioneer, poking into new territory. I was a little worried I'd lose control, pee in his mouth. But Alfredo seemed to know that wouldn't happen. He lapped at my circumcision scar and chewed on the head, trying to cram just the first few inches into his mouth. He played with my balls and made me so hard I wanted to stay like that forever. But I got so excited that in just a few minutes the hot, tingling feeling overwhelmed the crown and I couldn't stand his mouth on me. The embarrassment afterwards was nearly intense as the pleasure, but after a period of silence we'd get back into being kids again, playing Monopoly or something. A Get Out Of Jail Free card could always fall between my legs, but often nothing else happened until the next time Alfredo slept over.
Over the next year or so we'd meet in the tree fort at least twice a week. He knew what to do, and he did get better at it, though his teeth usually scraped me raw. On one of the sleep-overs, on my thirteenth birthday, we got a surprise. During that year Alfredo had never really done much more than stretch his hands around the shaft and suck on the head. His teeth would scrape away. His jaws would work, his tongue suctioning at the sensitive underside bulge. His hands would both pump at the shaft, making my balls dance. I had learned to read him. I recognized a kind of desperation to his movements, as if it hurt him somehow to lick and suck and stroke me so beautifully. He'd pull at the pole, his eyes meeting mine over the slight swell of my belly. I knew he knew when the tingling feeling came I'd push him away. Nothing was more wonderful than that dark skin against my white shaft, pink knob and aqua veins. Wincing and watching him chew on me. When the tip of your dick feels like it's on fire, you have to protect yourself; it's the only one you get and it's got to last a while. No matter how delicate Alfredo tried to be, how careful he was to not stimulate me too much, our sessions generally lasted only a few minutes.
I'd already sprouted a big bush of red-gold hair around my dick. I should have known something different was coming. We'd reached the twenty minute mark. Never before that had we made it to twenty minutes. I merely thought one of us had magically discovered a new way to prolong the sensations. I was pulling on my groin muscles, making my cock dance away from him. He caught it with both hands, and as we passed the thirty minute mark he tried another new something. I don't know what it was, but somehow his mouth got deeper, his teeth scraped at a different part, his tongue felt better and I could feel a new sensation rising up in me. Before that night, the tingling would begin in the tip of my dick; this time the sensation was an ache in my balls, in the pit of my belly, and along the whole length of my shaft. Alfredo looked into my eyes, I grabbed him by his oil-black hair and the tingling erupted out of me. The feeling was so startling I squeezed my eyes shut and tugged at Alfredo's hair, pulling him into me. His teeth clawed as I shoved past his lips. I spasmed ten, maybe twenty times, each surge a geyser of pleasure.
Alfredo whined, coughing, biting me, scraping across my cock's head. Then I opened my eyes. My dick flew out of his mouth and jabbed him in the eye, still gushing ropes of sticky, milky goop. I was simply shocked. Alfredo looked like he'd lost a battle with a jar of paste. He pulled my hands away from his head and he fell backwards, onto the floor. My dick kept squirting pearly strings into the air, onto the bedpost, the blankets. I fell backwards onto the bed. My cock slapped against my belly. A white pool the size of a silver dollar collected in the gold hair that ran down the center of my chest. Alfredo continued to cough and spit. He looked at me as if I'd done it on purpose. After that night Alfredo didn't come around much.
One day my mom brought me a whole armload of jockstraps and asked me to wear them. The following year I would be moving from middle school to high school, so I figured that was why. The broad elastic band could hold my cock against my belly. And I was horny all the time. And at least half-hard.I couldn't keep my hands off of myself. And my cock just seemed to gain weight. Guys in the shower would stare. I couldn't help it. Their attention would start it to rise. So I would take a cold shower. Or head for the bathroom and use both hands and a lot of spit to get rid of the problem for an hour or two.
High school might have been great except for the war. My dad hated the war. But since the United States wasn't involved, the war wasn't our problem. It was over there. We were safe over here. Then one day almost half of my classmates were gone. The locker room was nearly deserted. I could have wanked on myself, dumping my jizum all over the place and nobody would have cared. Everybody was down at the recruiters and halfway to boot camp before I knew what was happening. Suddenly everybody in the world was the enemy: Krauts, Japs, Dagos--everybody!
My dad surprised me. When I told him I was going to drop out of high school to join up, I thought he'd say no. But he was proud that I wanted to go, as if I personally would blow Hitler's head off. But the army wouldn't take me. Flat feet.
My dad was disappointed. My mom was thrilled. I asked my dad for the car. It was new, an emerald green Hudson, just over a year old. But he seemed to have anticipated the question and even gave me the rest of his ration stamps to fill the tank. I was too depressed to be very horny at all. I packed a lunch and started driving south. I drove and drove, sleeping in the spacious back seat when I got tired, only eating breakfast with some money mom had saved. I made it to a truck stop in Arizona, Yuma, I think. I spent three days in that truck stop. I kind of fell in love with it. The bathroom in particular. It wasn't a big bathroom, one sink and two crappers with doors. I climbed into the one in the corner by the wall. A knothole in the middle plank showed the far wall of the stall next to me. I locked the stall door behind me and did my business.
I was about to leave and go around the corner to the diner when I noticed there was a pink finger kind of tracing the shape of the knothole from the other side. I didn't realize what I was seeing, but my dick did. It was pointing straight at my chin. The guy on the other side began to tap at the opening with his finger. It didn't take me long to decide to stick it through. I fell forward, giving the guy my long, tense dick. For the next ten minutes the guy sucked and tongued and stroked and tickled my sausage like I was his last meal. I wanted to tell him he was going to get a very sticky surprise, very soon, but I had no point of reference in that situation. What is the polite thing to say? He had to have known that eventually I'd blow my nuts. So, I just let it go. I got no complaints. When I was empty, his jaw clamped gently down on me, burying the head as far as into himself as it would go and drew out every sticky drop. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his talents. But I was shaking so bad I was all fumbles. I heard him leave the stall, then the bathroom. I wanted to meet him face to face. I pulled up my pants and stepped into the night. The lot was empty, except for about a dozen trucks out there, their cabs dark. I turned myself around, scanning the area, hoping he was waiting for me, but he was gone. My dick had grown as soft as it ever gets and my stomach rumbled at me. The diner was a converted railroad car. The interior was a ghastly pink and red. I scanned the small crowd of men in the place, wondering which one, if any, now had my semen sitting in his stomach. A waitress with blue hair and too much lipstick guided me to a booth and handed me a small menu. Thankfully the chicken was excellent. I was starting on the apple pie when I realized something. My dick wasn't sore!
The guy in the bathroom hadn't had any teeth. A miracle!
I had to get some more of that. And the sooner the better. I rushed back to the bathroom, dropped my pants, and I was hard again in seconds. I was alone in there for about fifteen minutes when somebody in cowboy boots entered the booth next to me. I waited for the finger to poke through, but instead a dick did. It wasn't as big as mine. And it wasn't circumcised. As pretty as it was, I didn't want to go through what Alfredo had. Chicken, mashed potatoes and apple pie were enough dinner for me. After thirty seconds of hanging out into my stall, the cock backed out of the hole and the boots left the booth and the bathroom. I waited for another hour and nobody showed up. So I went back to my dad's green Hudson, climbed into the back seat and fell asleep.
Breakfast was wonderful! Eggs, biscuits and gravy! I could get to like truck stops. If only there had been a hotel nearby I might still be there today. Good food, a place to hang my hat. Exciting recreation. What more could a guy want? Just thinking about it was getting me hard again. The bathroom was just a hundred yards away. I ached for the return of that one toothless hole. I strolled back inside, found the stalls, did my morning business and waited. The place smelled of the same disinfectant my mom used, and I was thinking my mother would die if she knew, when the outer door opened and in a few moments the stall next to me was occupied. I got hard fast, just from the prospect of that familiar finger poking through the knothole in the oak planking. I stroked myself slowly. And, sure enough, a finger poked through, tracing the shape of the hole. I didn't ask for a second invitation.
I could feel him hefting my shaft in his hands. Then that hot, wet feeling engulfed me and I gasped. It was a different guy, one with teeth, but he had his own handy technique. What he was doing felt wonderful, but it lacked the tight, deep feeling like the previous cocksucker. I figured this guy was using his hands and his mouth, coordinating them, blowing on me, looking at me. It felt incredible. The outer door opened and somebody used the urinal and washed their hands. I didn't want to be found out. I thought someone would call the police. I mean, who'd ever heard of getting your dick sucked in a bathroom at a truck stop? Who would have ever thought you could find another guy, a stranger, who would even want to do that for you? Even with these thoughts bouncing around in my head I rested my hips against the wood, giving him as much of me as I could. I wanted him to be as fearful as I was of getting caught, but he kept sucking. Loudly. Hadn't he heard the new guy come into the bathroom? Didn't he care about getting caught? Obviously not, because he kept slurping, sucking at me, long strokes from base to the tip, stopping to chew on the head of my cock. The pain was panic and got me harder. He slurped louder!
It was clearly my responsibility to keep quiet. The new guy was now standing not ten feet from us, listening, interpreting. The thought, and the image it conjured, was too much for me. I tried to stop myself from groaning, but I let out a grunt as I dumped myself down that unknown throat. He spluttered a bit as he came off me for a second, but then, scraping as he went, pushed himself all the way down my dick. My anus clenched as I dumped a quart of juice down that gullet. I could feel the blood leaving my dick and I started to pull out of the hole. He didn't seem to want me to leave, his teeth biting down on me gently. I insisted, keeping the motion going, pulling out in tiny steps. Finally he let go and my cock swung free, popping out through the hole and slapping against my thigh.A minute later the cocksucker was gone. But right away the guy who had been waiting silently took the last one's place. After a moment of rustling of clothes and tinkling of a belt buckle, the new guy settled down.
He seemed content to wait. Neither of us waited long. After ten minutes I was as stiff as the boards separating us. Soon a finger caressed the hole and I stood, eagerly giving myself over to the mouth on the other side. It was him! I could tell immediately: no teeth! For the next hour, despite the fact that people moved into the bathroom, used the facilities and left again, he sucked me. I was primed. My balls had already dumped their surplus load; he would have to work to get the next one. The guy didn't disappoint me. Soon I began to feel that gathering of juices and I had no choice but to let him have what he'd worked so hard for. When it was all over, I made sure I got out of the place before he did. It meant I had to leave the stall with my dick waving in the air, wrestling to button my jeans around it. But I got into the car and waited for him to come out. He was about my dad's age. He was bald and lean and wore wire-rim glasses and was dressed like Paul Bunyan. I didn't know what to do. I mean, a couple of guys had sucked me off in my life and one of them was older than my dad! I asked myself if I wanted to have an old man swallow me. In only a second I knew the answer: Yes! Yes, I did. And my dick agreed. It wanted that tight, slippery throat again and again. I was about to go after him when he climbed into the driver's side of a huge truck, started it, and pulled out of the lot. I started the engine and followed.
He headed south and soon enough all the road signs were in Spanish. It wasn't difficult to follow him, the truck seemed to suck the sand from the side of the road into a plume behind it. If he had to stop suddenly, I'd be dead. We continued south, into the desert. We showed no signs of stopping. I only had a half a tank of gas and no more ration coupons; I kept my eyes on that dial. After a while he pulled into a large fenced lot, backed up to a loading dock and soon men were loading crates of vegetables into his truck. He stayed inside the warehouse for a few minutes and then climbed back into the cab of the truck. I was so nervous. I knew I had to talk to him, and I knew he was the guy who had sucked my dick so well--twice in two days--but maybe he didn't want to know me. Maybe he just wanted to suck stranger's cocks. I sure hoped not. I pulled my car up alongside his truck and got out. "Hello!" I grinned. Dust blew into my mouth and there was nothing I could do about it.
"Whadda ya need?" My dick jumped against my belly, the jock strap straining. "Can I talk to you?" I wanted something to drink. "Sure. Talk." His voice was pitched higher than my dad's. Dad had a rich, resonant voice that could carry for blocks. This guy seemed to exude gentleness and seemed pleased with most everything. I looked around. There were a few men with dark skins and rumpled straw hats pushing handcarts on the dock. I didn't want to really tell him what I wanted to tell him if anybody could hear. They might call me a queer or something. I didn't want to be called a queer, I just wanted the old guy to suck my dick.
"Could I talk to you, uh, privately, sir? It's kind of important."
"Pull your car on over there," he had a vague southern accent, "you're in the way where you are."
I got into the Hudson and drove to the end of the warehouse, near a small shack. I got out and locked the car behind me and crossed to the passenger's side of the driver's cab af the truck. I had to stretch to get my foot onto the first rusted foot rest. The rest of the climb wasn't much easier. I let myself into the passenger seat and the man shook my hand. His palm was dry, having a texture like tissue paper.
"Just a minute," he said. He got out of the cab, and danced down, and in a few minutes was back. He started the truck with a huge sound, revving the engine. Then he grinned at me, "What can I do for you?"
I laughed. I thought my heart would crawl right up my throat and fall into my lap. I almost got out right there, but he looked at me, right in the eye and a slow smile spread across his face.
"Well..." I said.
Why did I feel so afraid? Because, I reminded myself, I have to admit I stuck my dick through a hole in the wall. Because he might tell me he wasn't the guy and I'd be caught. I'd be a pervert--queer. But I was getting hard again, and it was downright uncomfortable, poking me in the stomach. It was best to just get it over with, let him reject me and I could go back home.
"I followed you. From the truck stop."
"You followed me?" He sucked air through his teeth. His teeth! Oh, no! No! I couldn't believe it! This guy had teeth! It wasn't him! I was certain there had been no one else in the bathroom. I had somehow gotten the wrong guy anyway! Oh, I was so stupid. I had missed those wonderful gums! That meant I'd have to go back to the truck stop and wait, maybe for days, for the real, toothless cock-sucker to come back. A grim thought, but not too grim. In spite of my disappointment a smile crept up on me. I resigned myself to my mistake and tried to smooth it over. "Yes, I followed you." His face was stony. "Look, I can see you aren't the guy I thought you were. I made a mistake." I put my hand on the door handle and he asked, "How old are you, boy?"
"Eighteen?" He seemed to weigh it, almost tasting it with his lips and his teeth. "Well, I guess that's old enough to know what you want."
"And you followed me?"
"But I must have the wrong person."
Then he stuck his thumb into his mouth and pulled out his teeth. They looked so alien, pink and, well, false. Then he put them back in his mouth and showed me his smile.
"I'm happy you did." He looked me in the eye. He must have thought I knew what to say. "So what do you want to do about it?" he whispered.
I swallowed. He reached over and laid his hand on my balls, finding my aching-hard dick with no trouble. He chuckled. "Let's go for a little ride."
We introduced ourselves. His name was Bill. He pulled out of the huge lot and headed south again. I glanced back at the dark green Hudson and hoped it would be okay. Being in the cab was like sitting on a ladder looking down on the road traveling sixty miles an hour, instead of coasting along with it. "I've got to deliver this load in Nogales," Bill said. "After that, we could stop and get acquainted up close. Without the splinters." His arm sang quickly through the gears and soon his hand was inside my pants. We drove for a long time with his hand stroking my balls and my dick standing straight up in the air. I covered it up long enough for him to unload the vegetables and then we were on our way again, back north, back toward my car. That's what I thought anyway. There was a place in the road where it widened, kind of like a place you could turn your car around if you wanted to. We swerved to the side of the road and stopped. For a minute or so dust gathered around the cab and he bent down and kissed the tip of my cock.
"Come on back here, son."
He crawled into a little space just big enough for the both of us. There was a little mattress and a blanket and a pillow and a jar with a lid with some urine in it in the corner. When I chose the way to lay down, he took the opposite direction so that his nose faced my knees. He scooted his hips toward my face. For a few seconds I thought he was going to ask for payment for those two great blow-jobs by demanding that I suck him. The thought made my throat feel kind of sickly. Then, as if he read my mind, he said, "Please don't touch Arthur. He's going to get excited, but no matter how much he seems to want it, no matter how stiff he gets, don't help him out. You can look at him if you want, though; he won't mind that a bit. If you do help Arthur out, even a little, he'll spit at you. It'll be a big mess. And we don't want that, do we?"
He waited, his face orange in the glow of the setting sun. I shook my head. That was a relief! Without saying another word he took out his teeth and tucked them in the corner by the jar of piss and took my cock into his mouth.
My dick had been sliced and jabbed by teeth, caught in my zipper (only once, thank you!) and twice it had been swallowed whole by a single nameless hole in a truck stop.
But nothing could compete with this. The angle was perfect, sliding down Bill's craw like that throat had been custom-made for me. Arthur did climb to attention, turning out to be pretty formidable himself, with lots of skin on his head. He drooled heavily. Under the circumstances though, I couldn't blame him. The closest I got to Arthur was a nose in his balls. This being the third load that day it took a long time to bring it up and out of me. Ultimately I wished he did have teeth on the top because I had learned to associate the slight pain of scraping with my orgasm. I was tired and I didn't want all this extra effort to go to waste, so after a while I turned over on my side, backed Bill's head up against the wall and fucked his throat. Slowly and deeply and as thoroughly as I could. He took every stroke in stride, finding his own rhythm, loosening himself up and tightening himself up, slurping. It was wonderful! Soon I was jamming myself into him, gripping his neck with my fingers and taking deep stabs at my orgasm. It was in there somewhere. Finally I found it, just a dribble I'm afraid, but it was enough to satisfy me, and I hope, Bill. We slept there that night. I woke up a couple of times to find him kneeling over me. It felt so good that I took his head in my hands and helped him, guiding his head down on me, like it was an empty skull, just a hole. But I was too tired to do much of anything but fall asleep again, him gumming me. When we woke up we didn't talk very much. He headed back toward Dad's emerald green Hudson and the warehouses, but on the way he asked me if I knew about The Day of the Dead. "No. Like Halloween?"
"A little. Let's take a little detour."
The road was clear ahead of us. Huge joshua trees hung over the road like feather dusters grown just for big trucks. The sky was lavender. Blue hung on the horizon blending with orange and yellow of the sinking sun. Bill concentrated on the road. I didn't know exactly what to say to him. A part of me wanted to reach over and suck on him, despite the big mess he'd make. But he might not like it if I did. When I was feeling the most strange, wondering what was ahead of me, what I'd do with my life--should I just go back to the truck stop and sleep in the car for the rest of my life? it was tempting--he reached over and ran his hand along my left leg. His entire palm dragged along my thigh. He seemed to be collecting the blood in my leg with his fingers, guiding it to where he wanted it. My cock lay against my leg and by the time those fingers reached my dick it was as perky as ever. "We're here. Do something with that," his hand lingered on the shaft. I made it wave around in a circle for him. Bill laughed. "Let's take a walk."
The sun was orange and the blanched adobe buildings stood against a deep blue-green
desert. The air smelled of something sweet but slightly rancid.
My dick devolved to being half-hard, laying against my thigh. I put my
hands in my pockets and held its shrinking crown with my cotton fingers.
I didn't even see the name of the town. In the street ahead of us a dozen
boys and girls cheered on a girl swinging a stick at a pinata. It was
a bull's skeleton. Her pole came down on somebody's head as she swung;
someone screamed, but the play continued. The blinded girl kept swinging
and hit the pinata, but didn't break it open. It was then that I realized
about half of the kids' faces were painted like skulls. Shadows in the
street reminded me of dark teeth biting down on them. A chill raced up
Bill stepped in front of me. I had no choice but to run into him and he took the opportunity to run a finger along the sleeping bulge running the width of my thigh. He kept walking, smiling back at me as he moved. I skipped to follow. In the shade ahead was a peddler. All around him were skulls. They ranged in size from as small as my thumb to almost as big as my head. The dark man in the white clothes was making one, using a pasty stuff to cover a bowl, pressing the whiteness out to cover the form evenly. Behind him were hardened skull halves and two rows of eyeballs, made out of the same stuff, painted red and black. Bill dropped some coins on the plank and pointed to a medium sized skull; the peddler handed him two. Bill bit into his own and it fell apart. I bit into mine. It was just sugar, but it was strange, that symbol, biting into a human being. So primal. I started to get hard, I was eighteen.
Bill walked across my path again, but I was prepared this time and led with my hips. "Reading my mind?" His hands were hot, sliding briefly over me. A hundred yards ahead, past the edge of the town was a hill. Outside the hill was a small hut. Bill headed for it. He handed the withered woman there a few coins and she parted a faded red curtain. We stepped into the hill. It reminded me of a cellar I saw once. It was dry and smelled a little like moldy bread. We took two steps and I saw corpses and skeletons everywhere. Holes carved in the walls and stacks of bodies in little shallow stalls could have been storage for those handcrafted sugar skulls and bones. Candles dotted the walls and floors in corners, out of reach, alongside the stalls. Golden light fluttered all around us. The shadows seemed to breathe heavily, as if aroused by our being there. The further back in the earth we walked, the more sealed coffins we encountered. We soon reached the end of the dry, underground chamber. Around us were stacked beautiful coffins. Three in each stack were visible, sunk into the walls. They weren't ornate or very expensive, but the wood was dyed or waxed so it glistened from the candles' glow.
I remember being impressed that it didn't smell like there were dead people around me. There was a kind of security, a tangible peace down here. Bill stopped and I collided with him again. He handed me his teeth and I stuck them in my pocket. I started to object; there were dead people all around us. But my dick didn't mind, so my mind kind of followed along. Bill kept his throat open and I kept moving my hips. That familiar collection of my juices from deep inside me boiled over and spumed out and down, straight into Bill's stomach. He sucked air as I came, bubbles of it passing along my shaft as the stuff shot out of me. My knees finally buckled so that when I returned to reality I was practically kneeling on Bill's chest.
Bill, bless him, just kept sucking. My cock began to deflate. Bill held onto it for as long as he could, flicking the head with his tongue.I listened carefully; I expected applause. Bill's appreciation was enough. We shuffled our clothes, rearranging them. I was suddenly aware that other people, other tourists, might show up; then, as I finished the thought, we were joined by another person.
Before that moment he seemed to be a part of the dirt walls, part of the skulls
and dark hearts of the cupboards made of earth. Then, he was just there.
The stranger reached toward Bill. Bill didn't seem to even see the guy.
Did they know each other or not? I thought I knew for sure when the stranger
reached out for Bill's face and kissed him on the neck. It must have felt
great because Bill moaned as the golden brown man in the beige suit continued
the kiss. He was going to leave a mark for sure, I thought. After
a minute or two, the other guy gathered Bill, playing dead, I'd guessed, in
his arms. The dark, handsome stranger looked into my eyes. What followed
after that was a blur; it must have been the point Bill returned to his truck,
because after that, I never saw him, or his throat, again.
The next thing I knew I was someplace else in total darkness. I was naked. It was cool. My legs and arms were held in place by cold metal. And something else wasn't right: I was hanging. I was upside down. The veins in my throat were filled to capacity. My head pounded with the pressure. I heard a scrape and a creak and a thud and the man from the catacombs appeared. My ears and my eyes tried to make out every subtle clue to my surroundings; I barely breathed. The slight golden man with the bottomless eyes carried a single white candle in a silver holder. He wore a linen robe tied at the waist. He was barefoot. Though the room was poorly lit, I could see his feet the most clearly. Soon his linen crotch was an inch from my face and I felt him as he kissed my stomach. The kisses were light and tickled slightly as he trailed them upwards, toward my upended dick. He burrowed his face past my cock and and between my legs. His crotch hit me in the nose. I felt his tongue on my balls. It seemed made of sandpaper. It scraped at the very base of my cock where it seems to connect with my butt-hole. Then he started sucking my leg.
I next realized that something with mass was resting on my chin, like a red-hot sword on an anvil. My head had lolled back, giving myself over to the curious pain and pleasure in my groin.
I could see the shaft, from this perspective. It was huge, resting against my nose, and the testicles, hairy and large rested against my eyebrows. My eyelashes brushed against them and they shrank back like snail's eyes. The linen soon fell away and the man's bronze skin and serpentine cock kissed at my face. Its crown was large and full, the head bulging in spite of the ample foreskin. I moved my head aside to get a look at it in profile, but it followed me. It seemed to have a brain, a will of its own. The skin covering the head kissed me, gathering from its balls to pucker against my lips. Without willing it, my own lips kissed back. He continued to suck on my leg above me and, abruptly stopped. It distracted me and I sighed. As I opened my mouth to do so, the huge hooded worm before me took it as an invitation. It didn't disgust me when it parted my lips, which surprised me. It seemed to suck on my teeth, or perhaps knock at them, like they were windows, begging to enter. I thought I had my wits about me, but I opened my mouth further.
A day earlier the thought of another man's cock in my mouth had caused so many conflicting feelings in me that I would feel ill. But this intelligent organ felt right. I didn't once think he was going to pee in my mouth and I didn't once recall with disgust the incident with Alfredo. Once it was in my mouth I forgot about fear. A unique flavor, delicious, seemed to seep from him; it seemed to fortify me. What struck me was the way his organ filled my mouth. Like a root, the organ began to lengthen. Not stiffen, but just advance past my mouth, past my molars, and before I knew it, it was kissing my uvula and, my throat was opening. The hooded organ burrowed down my throat, pushing, but squirming as it did so, loosening me up, as a masseur, not an invader. I didn't once wonder where my air supply was, I didn't feel that panicked clenching as the firm, spongy thickness filled my throat. All this seemed normal for me.
In a moment of clarity, I reasoned that fungus spores in the catacombs were giving me these hallucinations, but then the man with the delicious dick swallowed my own. The sensation was too real to be imaginary. In one slow, sensual gulp the tip of my dick advanced to the end of the hot tunnel to rest against the base of his eerily pulsating heart. I was so stiff, I ached to come, but I had the flesh filling my throat to contend with, distracting me. There was no escaping the cock now filling my throat. The hot tube seemed to cling to the tissues I swallowed with, but still was not completely erect. And it kept growing. Soon my throat would split open. No sooner had I thought it, the thing began to swell some more, and to really stiffen. Soon I was filled to the seams with cold stone shaped like a huge penis. There was no room to breathe. I knew if I couldn't, I would die, but I didn't care. I wanted to die like this. Plugged into his intelligent, heat-seeking dick.
The sensations in my own cock distracted me. It felt as if his throat had grabbed hold of my cock. Like he had rows and rows of teeth, each one hooking a tiny tent of my skin. Their collective attachment to me was the most excruciating pain. But my dick didn't know that. I tried to open my throat for the invader inside me and though it hurt more than anything I'd ever felt, I dragged my cock a fraction of an inch outward. I could feel myself swell inside him; I could feel tiny cuts, imagine each tooth, lamprey-like, slicing me open. At each tiny nick a single drop of blood escaped.
I could taste him, swelling inside me. A coppery, damp, earthy flavor.
Then haziness overcame me.
The next thing I remember, I was dressed in clothing similar to his. We were in a bedroom. Again, one candle in the corner showed me shapes of things in amber and black. He handed me a wide-brimmed, straw hat. I took it. I imagined that I looked funny. I looked around for a mirror, but there weren't any.
"Go into the village for me," he said.
He was clearly Spanish, but though his accent was thick, I understood him perfectly. I didn't know anything about this person, but still, I felt I had known him for a very long time. Carlos was his name. I knew that, but this was the first time he had spoken to me.
"The pouch at your side contains money. Walk to the village and take
what your body demands of you." He smiled just slightly and said, "I cannot
trust myself to allow you to... rest," the smile became wistful, "as you must.
Return to me in two days, at dusk."
I left the villa at dawn, returning to the town. I never thought I'd
notice so much of the life around me. I could hear the soft pad of a coyote
off to my left, though I couldn't see it; I heard a brood of desert owls screeching
for their mother somewhere in the cactus towering above me, and at my feet I
knew scorpions were skittering toward the undersides of rocks. The orange
of the sky turned blue quickly and by the time I reached the village the sun
was free of the horizon and I was happy Carlos had insisted I take the hat.
At the single cantina, a man came from behind the counter and asked me in primitive
English if I wanted something. I told him meat, in equally primitive Spanish,
and he brought roasted beef, pork and chicken. Also there was rice,
beans and a pitcher of beer. I ate as if I were filling a hole inside
me, packing the nutrition in. Across the street was a tiny hotel; I rented
a room. The sun was nearly at its zenith and the heat was too much for
me. I collapsed on the complaining mattress, my feet poking through the
iron bars, and fell instantly asleep.
When I woke dawn was breaking. I had slept for twenty hours. I watched the sun rise on the desert and wondered how I would spend the rest of the two days. Thinking of returning to Carlos got me hard again. But it also got me hungry. Right at that moment, by body seemed to be saying to me, "Food! I want food!" and so I returned to the cantina and pointed to my mouth.
It was enough because soon beef and rice and beans and chicken came to me hot and steaming and I devoured it all. A man, older than me by only a few years, moustache growing weakly on his lip, asked if I wanted beer. He said the word in English, probably his only English word. I nodded and he brought me a pitcher of beer. He poured it for me and I couldn't help but notice he was studying my cock, which still rested against my thigh in my linen trousers. He averted his eyes, but not fast enough. He blushed and retreated. I left what I thought was a good tip and smiled at him.
It was moving toward mid-day and siesta-time was approaching. The sun flowed down on me and the hat Carlos had given me, as well as the cool clothes turned out to be vital. My Germanic skin would have burned easily had I been caught in the flaming day. So I decided to go back to the hotel and wait out the rest of the heat. In just a few more hours I could return to Carlos. As I turned the corner into the hotel, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and found the young man was following me. I climbed the stairs, slowly, looking back at him, sure he knew I anticipated him following. By the time I reached the door to my room, he had reached the top of the stairs.
I entered and left the door slightly ajar. I waited. Nothing. The heat was oppressive. Living in Los Angeles isn't much different than Mexico, hot most of the time, dry, dusty. But at least at home I could step into the shower if necessary and cool off. There was no shower here, just a porcelain basin and pitcher. I wasn't tired, but I was definitely horny. Carlos was still on my mind. Was the last week just a dream? If so, how did I actually get here? I stepped out of my clothes and moved the table from near the window to a place near the closet. On the closet door was a full-length mirror, nothing fancy, cracked at the bottom. Opening the door slightly gave me an excellent view of myself. I used a washcloth provided on the table to sponge my armpits and laid it against the back of my neck. It felt wonderful. Then, using the tiny bar of soap, I lathered my hands together and started to work on my dick. I'd never had the opportunity to inspect myself like this before.
There were mirrors at home, but they weren't intended to show off one's entire body. This one, though narrow, showed my cock and balls, my head and my torso. I spread my legs and stroked my cock. In just a few moments I was completely stiff. Examining my cock's shaft closely I found very tiny cuts, just healed, and still pink all around my cock. There were a dozen of them that I could see. The memory of Carlos' cock kissing me on the lips, that intense pleasure/pain of his throat, and the glance of the young man in the cantina all served to make me yearn for release. I added water to the soap and began to stroke myself. Then I heard a knock. I turned my head. The young man stood partly in, partly out of the room and smiled at me. I motioned him in with my head and my cock throbbed as he stepped fully inside and closed the door. In his hand he had an earthenware cup with a top on it. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt. He'd cut his onyx hair himself and that delicate caterpillar moustache topped a perfect set of large white teeth. My cock danced in anticipation. He stepped to my side, his mouth hanging open as his eyes took in what I waved in my fist.
I took him by the hand and guided him to stand before me. He pushed the brown cup against my chest and instead of kneeling, as I had hoped he would he turned his back on me and started taking off his pants. I opened the jar and inside was a half of a cube of butter, mostly melted.
He shucked his pants and backed into me. I didn't know how to say that I'd never... well, I just didn't think about that, not really. Not before then. But like other times before, my cock responded for me. I scooped some of the butter into my fingers, sat the cup down on the floor, and tried to help this little man stick me up his butt. His hands weren't very skilled. He seemed to need me to guide it into him. That pucker was a very small target. And, seriously, I didn't think it would ever be possible to get three fingers, let alone my cock, up in there. I even doubted one finger would fit. It was just too small.
As if reading my thoughts, the little guy turned, took me by one finger and kind of dragged me onto the floor. I figured he'd decided the same thing I had and would get down and start chewing on me. My cock wanted to get scraped! It wanted to squirt what it had saved up into those black nostrils, black eyes, black hair. But then he straddled my chest and grabbed a couple of fingers worth of the butter and greased up his butthole. From the look on his face his own fingers felt great. So I tried it. I went to work on his butt with my fingers. He collapsed onto my neck and sucked and nibbled on my throat as I worked him over with my fingers. After just a few minutes, I discovered I could get one finger up in there. All the way! My cock had never been harder, even though I wasn't touching myself. The crown lay against his lower back, his subtle movements in response to my fingers' probing gently rubbed my come-slit. Soon I could get two fingers up in there and I got to thinking that maybe I really could get three fingers up there. I began to feel optimistic.
Pretty soon my silent friend was groaning and without a yelp or a tear the
third finger slid inside him. He reached back, took hold of the shaft
of my dribbling monster and positioned it at the gate to his rectum. Then
he pushed himself down, slowly, looking into my eyes. My cock slid past
the warmest, most fantastic tightness. The feeling, emotionally as well
as physically, was so intense that my cock couldn't stand it. I pushed
on his shoulders, shoving myself up into him. A plug of my essence the
size of my head was yanked out my belly through my cock. I spasmed like
that, eyes clenched shut, for what had to have been an hour. Finally my
cock retreated from the tiny hole with a jarring, nearly audible suddenness.
My visitor had dumped his own mess on my chest between us. He smiled at
me. I wiped up his come and and he groaned as I wiped his butt with the
towel. I tossed it into the bathroom and went to the basin to wash my
dick. By the time I turned around, the little man and his butter were
Could I fit all the events of the past week together into a logical whole? Was what I felt in the darkness in Carlos' arms real? Where was Bill? Since I didn't know that, and since he had driven us here, my only choice was to return to Carlos. If Carlos was real.
I headed back the way I had come two days before. I was uncertain of the way back. I could see the gates to the small estate in my mind, but I must have turned left when I should have turned right, or something. He had told me to meet him at dusk and dusk had already passed. I was hopelessly lost.
"I'll never get out of here," I said to myself. I turned to look for high ground, which in the desert is next to impossible. By the time I'd made the full circle, Carlos was standing beside me. "Lost?" he said in that thick accent.
"I guess so. I tried to come back to you."
"Gladly," I said. But Carlos didn't get the joke, or he didn't make any indications that he had. He began walking, silently, and I followed. He wore the same outfit as before, similar to mine. We walked in silence. I assumed that since my Spanish wasn't very good that his English wasn't very good. But, I was sure that we could communicate with our bodies. If we ever stopped walking. The sun's orange afterglow slowly faded from the western sky and as it did, the desert seemed to bloom. Smells, sweet and mysterious wafted past us and animals all around us sounded like ladies primping after church. I could see the villa, a squat, white building, up ahead.
As if a switch were thrown, from somewhere behind us, came a squeaking. I turned and saw a black cloud coming across the horizon. I stopped and stared. Carlos put his hand on my shoulder. "Come," he said. I didn't bother with the joke. "Aren't they wonderful?" I said as the bats, there had to be a million of them, passed over our heads. "They are." Carlos smiled when I looked at him. His teeth were beautiful. White and large, seeming to gleam in the starlight. The thought of them scraping along the length of my cock, leaving red marks that I could later touch to remind me, got me hard again. I put my arms around him and hugged him close, making him aware of my need.
He looked at me with a kind of longing I'd never seen. His palm slid past the white buttons and he touched my chest. I was startled at how cold his palm was. He reached down, past my waist and his cold fingers stroked my cock once and then they circled my balls and held on. He started walking. I had no choice but to follow. My cock stood proud in the night. My balls almost hurt. His fist was nearly like ice. With each footfall my cock throbbed. By the time we reached the villa I had leaked a gruel of clear stuff down my cock and onto his fist. We reached the door and he let go of my balls and presented his hand to me. I looked into his eyes and licked the salty stuff from his icy hand while my cock poked him in the stomach. The memory of the man in the hotel room flooded my mind. "Yes," Carlos said. This time he cupped his hands around the head of my cock and tickled the shaft with his fingernails. He strolled away and I followed. I wanted to own the man. I would start by fucking him.
He lit a taper and handed it to me, leading us down a short flight of stairs. I set the candle down on a crate stenciled in Portuguese or Spanish with the name Senor Carlos San Guinotti. All around the room were more of the crates. He led me to a bed in the center, dark burgundy and white sheets. supported by still more of the crates. "What's in these?" I asked. "Earth," he said. Then he ripped my clothes from my body. In seconds I was naked. Carlos took me by the hand and led me to the bed platform, my cock swinging through the air, slapping against my thigh. In a moment Carlos had shed his clothes, kneeled on the bed and presented his butt to me. I put my hand on his cold ass and my fingers found his perfect pucker. I touched it. It tensed and relaxed. I licked my index finger and slowly pushed it into his asshole. He let out a sigh and then his butthole opened and nearly swallowed my hand. His asshole sucked at my fingers. It was too much. I grabbed my cockhead and squeezed hard. I didn't want to come. I didn't want to come!
But I did. Three foot-long ropes spewed out of me.
Carlos sat at the edge of the bed and I knelt, one knee between his legs, my
cock drooling the last of my heated semen on his dark thigh. Then he kissed
me. I'd never thought about kissing a man before. I especially never
thought about his tongue searching out my mouth, tasting so good. I never
dreamed my own tongue would do the same, but instinctively, my tongue explored
his mouth. His teeth were curiously sharp, especially the incisors.
The thought made my cock jump.
Though I'd just dumped six hours' accumulation of semen, I was hard again in moments. I reached for Carlos' cock, but it was like I remembered it the first time I encountered it. Like paper. Not just soft, but dried. We sucked at each other's mouths for a long time. Then he pulled me up, to stand with my cock resting against his chest.
"Now," he said, and rested his heels on my shoulders.
Shoving my cock into his ass would hurt him, I was sure of that. But a movie in my mind was playing out, images of the man in the hotel, that hole in the truck stop toilet, Bill's mouth and throat taking me, and finally Carlos' cold asshole sucking my fingers into his cold innards--I became an animal. I dragged his thighs to me and my cock thrust forward and buried its entire length into his body. "Caro mio," he sighed and I got lost in his eyes. Not lost enough to forget to fuck him, though. My toes dug into the cold earth beneath us and my hips did the rest. I was sure I could pinpoint the place where my cock was, thrust fully into Carlos' body, its crown meeting his breastbone, inching past it. I licked the spot.
The look of bliss on his face just got me harder, and longer and thicker, I was sure. Soon my feet were buried in the ground, my toes digging like miners for gold. I picked him up and shoved him forward, my cock doing most of the shoving, and put my knees on the bed. This was an even better position. I slid my hands under his cold back and, kneeling, could now not only shove my battering ram into him, but arc my hips upwards. Carlos sighed with each thrust. I drew him toward me and kissed him. His mouth opened to receive me and my tongue slid past his fangs.
He kissed me on the neck and I fucked harder and faster. He began sucking at my throat. I hoped he wouldn't leave a mark, like some of the guys showed up with at school. I never thought the bruises were very attractive, so I hoped he wouldn't leave a mark. There was a single moment of piercing pain and then bliss, from both ends of my body. "Be with me," Carlos said, his mouth filled with ivory, "for always?" I had never thought of loving another man before then. Sticking my dick in a man's butt or down his throat or in his armpit, yes, but loving another man? Being with another man? Forever?
"Okay," I said.I then realized Carlos was warm, hot even. I also realized his cock, like paper before, was now as hard as I was, laying between us demanding attention. I reached down with one hand, continuing to fuck, slowly, grinding my pelvis into his butt, and skinned back the dark hood. My fingers found his come-slit and I looked down at it, taking in the picture of him.
I could feel myself getting ready. Like ants crawling from my knees toward
my thighs. Carlos reached for my neck and pulled himself forward, into
me. I wanted to hold off. I wanted this to last forever. I
fingered the crown of his cock, my own sliding into his hot innards regularly,
because I knew he wanted me to come. He wanted the essence of me inside
him, just like I wanted the essence of him inside me. Those ants were
now crawling around my taut stomach, inching their way toward my balls.
Faster, I fingered his fuschia crown, my fingers seemed able to reach into his
cock, unnaturally elastic now. "Close your eyes," Carlos said. He
knew I was there. Those ants were all lined up along the cubit of my cock,
straining to be released. I closed my eyes and I started to come.
I was loaded with lead, shooting bullets, deadly and unerring, straight at his
heart. Then, my fingers were washed in hot, sticky fluid. He pulled
down on my head and I opened my mouth. A drop of hot, chunky fluid, like
Velveeta, shot into my throat. When I was spent, I lay atop him.
My cock deflated quickly. As a token of my love, I licked away his delicious,
dark semen and collapsed into his arms.
When I woke, Carlos was gone. Beside me, written in elaborate cursive strokes was a message: Go into town. Take what your body demands of you. Return to me in two days, at dusk. C.S.G.
I realized I was no longer in the basement, but in a room in the house proper. I lay on a canopy bed. Laid out beside me on the brocaded bedspread was a new set of clothes. They were the same as before, linen and cool. I walked to the heavy curtains and threw them aside. Hot sunlight poured into the room. I staggered back. My eyes hurt. I donned the hat. When I stepped into the late-afternoon heat, I was careful to keep the brim between myself and the sun. I was born and raised in Los Angeles. I had never had such sensitivity to light before. I was puzzled, but I was more interested in following instructions and hoping the days would pass quickly. I wanted Carlos. My love. I wanted him always. Forever. But for now I was lost.
What I wanted somewhat less than Carlos was to find that young man and show him what I'd learned. His disappointment at my one thrust fuck had been clear. Now, however, I was sure I could fuck him to within an inch of his life. The thought of fucking him to death seemed perfectly natural to me and my cock slithered down my leg to prove it. There was a wonderful smell coming from the east, so I walked that way. Good thing, too, because I didn't want to face the sun again. It had grown hostile somehow.
The town was just where I had left it and, though still hungry, beans and beef and chicken seemed inadequate somehow. I stepped into the cantina and ordered more meat. I shunned the beer; it was not what I needed. After eating only a small portion of the meal, I returned to the small hotel and got another room. I dozed in the single wooden rocking chair.
I rose feeling brand new. The streets were deserted, the sun was high in the sky. Siesta time. I prowled the streets. I heard a rhythmic stroking coming from the building next to me. It was a general store. Someone was stroking himself, I could hear foreskin separate as the fist struck the pubic bone. I rounded the building and sprang to the door. As it opened a bell tinkled above me. I waited as I heard the shuffle of clothes rearranged quickly. I threw the tiny deadbolt on the door behind me and strolled toward the man behind the counter. I caught his eyes and willed him to want me. Beneath me was an old cherrywood display case, its top edge made the perfect platform for the slab edge of my dick. I shoved my balls forward, crushing them slightly as my linen salami rested above the display of mascara and liniments. His eyes took in the form beneath my trousers and he swallowed. The man's eyes clung to the shaft of my cock as it lolled against the glass.
I moved then, toward the same room the clerk had left. He followed closely and I grabbed his bulge savagely. He crumpled and my nose found his throat. My nose had grown sensitive. I could feel the blood rush past its tip. I licked his throat, my cock responding to the surge beneath his skin. He sighed and I carried him into the small room. He smiled up at me and those huge teeth seemed to draw me in. I kissed him, my need to engulf him aroused me fully. I shoved him to his knees and guided myself into the territory of those large ivory gates. The man's teeth took their toll. The scraping reminded me of Carlos' tongue, like a rasp, making me leap away momentarily, reflexively responding to the tiny, slicing nips. Yes, he was good. Quite good. I wanted to come. But I wanted to come now. At this rate it would take hours. I reached down to the man's erection; drool crept from its tip. I reached in, gathering that honey on my fingers. I plunged those fingers inside his butthole and began to work them inside. When I had three fingers in, like stirring peanut butter, I knew what I had to have.
Carlos had said I must do what my body demanded of me, and I desperately needed
to mount this man--I had to possess him. He cried out when I speared him
initially, I could sense that I'd torn tissues inside of him; I could smell
blood. The pleasure of control dominated me. I reached around and
grabbed hold of his uncut cock and balls and I used them as the handle to plunge
the dark man onto me. I drove his fevered body across the dirt floor.
As I moved my pelvis, thrusting upwards, striking his heart, beating it, poking
it, my nose nudged his jugular vein and I felt the blood surge there.
My cock beat with the same rhythm.
When the sun finally sank below the horizon I came. A second later the man's cock erupted beneath my hand. I left him there, bleeding. Sated, I hoped. I went back to the restaurant and had a full meal, returned to my hotel and slept until just before dusk on the next day.
I knew exactly where I was headed this time. I sensed it, sensed Carlos, and was drawn to him like an iron shaving to a lodestone. My previous observations of skittering creatures around me were more intense, very nearly cacophonic. My heart leapt at the thought of Carlos waiting for me; in my mind I could almost see him smiling, leaning against the door to the villa. The thought of him possessing me as I possessed him thrilled me so much that I began to run. I leapt with each stride, extending my legs as far as possible, nearly flying across the desert floor. My heart pounded, filling my ears with the rush of my rich, copious blood. I crested a tiny hill which looked out over the villa and its grounds.
He stood, just as I had pictured him, nonchalantly leaning on the door jamb. His smile reminded me of the Mona Lisa's, that moustache seeming to draw itself outward like welcoming arms. He turned without a word and I followed. He led me to another room in the cellar. This one was also filled with crates but I got the impression they contained more than just dirt. Gold overflowed one of them, coins and cups and jewelry. The candles' light seemed intensified by the treasure, their usual gold amber glow made richer and more enchanting.
"I no longer am human." Carlos said as he sat on a bed atop more crates.
"If we make love again, you will cease to exist as you are."
Either I was getting used to his accent or he was getting better at speaking English, I wasn't sure.
"You will become attached to the land of your home and you will have to feed as I do. I have long regretted the loss of my mortal being. Leave me now and you may grow old and die. Love me now and become a part of me... forever."
His eyes seemed filled to bursting with sadness and if I had not sensed his lowliness I might have left then and there. But, again, my dick did my thinking for me and in moments my erection swelled, reaching along my thigh for my knee. I stepped out of the linen trousers and let my cock swing free. It moved like a conductor's baton, a steady four-four beat as I stalked my love on the bed. By the time I reached him it was fully engorged. He smiled. I poked him in the eye.
"Bite me," I said.
He locked eyes with me, opened his mouth and with needle-sharp fangs, did what I had asked. It hurt no more than the clumsy attempts by other cocksuckers I had known before. He swallowed, licked away the blood, and the wound healed instantly. Carlos stood, our linen covered chests nearly touched. He dropped his pants and his animated cock began to kiss my balls and snuggle against my own cock, like a grateful pussycat.
"I will be with you always," Carlos said as he kissed me.
His cock's skin-covered crown found my own and that prehensile sheath began
to suck at my circumcised bulb. The kiss was wonderful, but the sensation
on my cock was like being inside Bill's throat, but even more fantastic.
I pulled away and looked down. We were one. His foreskin had stretched
to nearly the base of my cock. Where all that skin came from I didn't
know, but by then I was not surprised at anything Carlos could do. As
I thought it, he pulled me toward him, and his cock swallowed mine. It
was no longer just his skin my dick was sheathed by, I could feel his come slit
open, like a toothless mouth. I could see the girth of my crown take up
space within his cock, becoming four fingers wide, as wide as an entire hand!
His cock was devouring mine. I was speechless with joy and amazement and
I let him take me completely. As my stiff prick entered his, docking with
that heavenly tube of sucking flesh, I pulled him to me and licked and nibbled
on his neck. The sensations were too much for me. He muttered, "Caro
mio," and I started to suck. I'm sure I left a mark. He pulled me
into the bed, and like that, joined by our erections, I fell asleep.
When I woke, Carlos was gone. The chest of gold and jewels I'd seen before was within my reach and sitting atop it was a note:
I must return to my homeland to perpetuate certain mundane matters. Here you will find a pouch like mine; fill it with gold and return to your home, to the land, and purchase it. Carry it with you as I do; it will strengthen you, console you. Barristers often work at night. Find one who can remain silent and bid him to act in your behalf, in the light of day. Do not fret, I will return to you, though, as you shall see, you shall always carry a part of me within you. Until that night, explore your gifts and take care to remain in the shadows. Preserve yourself; take what your body demands of you and yearn for me as I yearn for you.
With infinite love,
Carlos San Guinotti.
A drop of his blood stained the signature; I licked it away and smiled sweetly with the memory of our times together.
I did as he suggested, finding a shoulder bag similar to the one I'd seen him carrying before and partially filled it with gold doubloons. It should have been heavy, but I felt strong. And ravenous. I stepped into the night and was delighted at the life around me. I started off, knowing where home was, not by orientation from the stars or the moon or anything else, I could simply feel my home. To my left and beneath a low shrub a scorpion skittered, a mother, her children clinging to her back; I could sense each of their tiny hearts beating in sympathy to hers. To my right, and nearly a mile off, a coyote scratched at her fleas. In the distance, flying away from me was another cloud of thousands of bats, all were different, as though I could name them from intimate contact with each. The night was so alive it was a wonder that I had missed such beauty.
I walked and walked, crossing a mountain range, finally coming to an old shack adjacent to the wreckage of a burned-out ranch. I could sense the dawn approaching. I needed food. A jackrabbit started only feet from me and I reached out to it with my mind. I could feel its fear and its heart, the blood in its veins. I willed it to be still. I walked up to it and it trembled, heart racing as I stopped and picked it up by its ears. Its fear was like alcohol, tainting its blood, making me giddy. It slaked my thirst. It also engorged me.
I used the body as lubricant and fucked its carcass, dropping my pants as the eastern sky turned orange. In minutes the savagery of my act, the sensation of the animal's innards against my flesh, was enough. My blood leapt out of my cock, precious drops of it splattering onto the greying boards of the lean-to shack. The sunlight seared into my flesh from the sliver breaking free of the horizon and I knew I had been lucky to find shelter. I slept as the dead and woke as the sun lost its battle with the western horizon. I continued north.
The next day I found a crevasse in some rocks, hiding my head with the sack. Noon was a nightmare of heat and scalding, searing pain. I had no choice but to bury myself in a layer of sand and finally as the afternoon wore on, was able to spend the rest of the day in the shadow of a boulder. I reached the same truck stop at which my journey began and found it changed. Trucks were as plentiful as before. Cars were also abundant. But they were not as spacious as before, they were like boxes and much smaller than the emerald green Hudson my father had lent me.
There were still hours to go until sunrise so I returned to the bathroom.
The knothole was still there. The walls themselves were filled with expressions
I'd never actually seen written down before and one said, Celebrate the bicentennial
with a blow job--be here noon on Mondays." I accepted the passage of thirty
years with ease as well as my perfect eighteen-year-old body, cold though it
I sat on the porcelain throne and moved my bowels for the last time.
Shedding the last of what made me what I was before. Someone walked into
stall next to me and I placed my finger against the edge of the hole.
In a moment, a penis poked through, large, uncircumcised and black as a bat.
I had never seen a black one before. With my fingers I stroked the hot
flesh. I skinned the veiny sheath back to expose the huge, glowing ruby
crown. A bit of clear broth leaked from the vertical slit and the whole
shaft arched upwards.
From behind the wall the man whispered, "Hey, man, your hands are cold.
Use your mouth."
I tickled at my own cock. It was flaccid and like paper, as though it
had never been engorged and as stiff as an oak branch.
The nine inches of flesh throbbed before me, swollen and hot with blood, jumping
with each throb of the stranger's heart. In a moment I would do just as
he asked. I could already feel my fangs lengthening. I willed them
to subside. I would choose a time when he was near his orgasm, a time
when a little pain wouldn't matter to him. Carlos would be proud.
Proud of the things I'd learned in the short time he was away. Somewhere
on the other side of the world I knew he was smiling gently in appreciation,
with love. My hand stroked the shaft swelling before me. The clear
soup dripped onto my skin. The pomegranate crown invited me to dine.
In case you hadn't noticed...
I suck now.
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