papabearbeau

"If your life isn't a love story
then what is it?" - Adam

My personal memoir "Papabear Beau" has recently been published in the Alyson Publications anthology "Bear Lust" under the editorship of Ron Suresha. You are invited to my first public reading of "Papabear Beau" at the "Paws for Words" literary event at the 2005 International Bear Rendezvous during the weekend of February 18-20 at the Ramada Inn, San Francisco Civic Center.

Papabear Beau

for Beau from Summer Island

by adambenhur@yahoo.com

In my mid-twenties I had a summer job at Brentano's Bookstore in the Beverly- Wilshire Hotel on Wilshire Avenue at the foot of Rodeo Drive ... a very trendy neighborhood, not that I personally could ever afford to shop there. I had a small upstairs apartment on Almont Drive right around the corner from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. William Saroyan's actress daughter, Lucy, lived downstairs from me and LSD guru Timothy Leary lived next door. I often walked the nine or ten blocks from home to the bookstore and back which kept me in pretty good shape.

    I got my hair cut at the men's barbershop at the hotel because it was convenient and I got an employee discount. On a bookstore clerk's wages, you're grateful for any break you can get. Late one afternoon as I was getting off work I decided it was time to get my hair cut since it was starting to get in my eyes. I went to the barber at the hotel and asked if he had any time. He was a friendly, personable Italian man who had been a fixture at this shop for years. I always assumed he was gay. He was very chipper and said hello whenever we ran into each other. He was too much the professional to make any advances or flirt overtly but he had an outgoing manner and I always knew he liked me just as a person. He smiled and said he had an appointment coming down but it was only a trim and he could see me in half an hour.

    "Thanks, Mario! I'll see ya at 6:30" I said.

    I wandered through the hotel lobby for a few minutes. These were the days when Warren Beatty kept a penthouse apartment on the top floor and it was fun to catch an occasional glimpse of him walking through the lobby with some hot starlet in tow. Being from Northern California, it was exciting for me to see celebrities and movie stars in real life around the hotel. I wasn't a gawker off a tour bus or anything but I admit to getting a thrill out of running into Cher and Mick Jagger. (She was smaller than I expected and he was taller. They were both pleasant, no star attitude at all.)

    When I returned to the barber, he was finishing up a trim on a large-framed man with a Southern accent who was apparently staying in the hotel on a business trip. Even under the barber's protective covering, I could see that he was a big, well-built man, around six feet four and about 220 well-taken-care-of pounds. He must have been in his late forties and had that kind of iron-grey hair sweeping up his temples that makes men look sexier than heck. He had the look of a professional coach, someone who probably played a lot of sports in college and managed to keep his physique. I picked up a magazine and began thumbing through it, occasionally looking up to get a glimpse of this attractive, broad-shouldered gentleman with the rich, baritone voice and classic Southern drawl.

    As the barber made small talk, it became apparent that this was his first visit to Los Angeles. He was curious about what to see and do over the next few days. As the conversation bounced around, I spontaneously joined in and suggested that he try to see the laser show at the Laserium at Griffith Observatory and also try to get to the Getty Museum in Pacific Palisades. He smiled and appreciated my effort. As we warmed up to each other, the barber introduced me as Adam and I discovered that his name was Beau.

    "Nice name" I thought." That really suits him."

    As Mario finished the haircut, Beau thanked me for my suggestions. Then, unexpectedly, he suggested that I meet him for a margarita in the hotel bar, Don Hernando's Hideaway, after my haircut so we could continue our talk. The margaritas at Don Hernando's Hideaway are famous and you can make a meal of the generous hors d'oeuvres that are served along with them ... which I did fairly often rather than face cooking for myself at the end of a work day.

    I got my haircut, Mario slapped some lightly scented tonic on my hair ... a watered-down, distant cousin to Bay Rum, not too overwhelming ... and then I wandered over to the dimly lit, tropical bar with pleasant expectations. Beau was sitting in a cozy booth in the corner , partially hidden behind a green tumble of exotic broad-leafed plants . A frothy margarita in a large salt-rimmed glass was already waiting for me on the pink table-cloth. I grinned and slid in across from him. He was quite a large man with broad shoulders, big hairy hands, a brilliant smile, and a square, handsome face with clean, precisely cut features. Through bright, intelligent, sapphire eyes he radiated masculine confidence. I was strangely excited by the situation and by the fatherly sense of appreciation he showed me. As I took a first sip of the crisp, chilled cocktail, he asked if I wouldn't mind joining him for dinner because he didn't enjoy eating alone. He told me he had taken the liberty of ordering the chateaubriand which is traditionally prepared and served for two people and that he would feel awkward sitting by himself in front of a plate of food like that. I smiled and said "Sure, I don't really have any plans tonight. Dinner sounds great."

    "Thanks. I was hoping you'd say yes. You're a very refreshing young man. You didn't have to go out of your way to make me feel welcome here. But I appreciate it very much. Every meal I've had since I got here has been more or less a business meeting with a bunch of stuffy old financial men. I was hoping to run into a friendly native at some point." He twinkled at me and settled back.

    He told me about his business enterprises and described his life in Gulfport, Mississippi, on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. He was obviously proud of his Southern way of life but not at all condescending or possessed of that "mine-is-better" thinking you occasionally run into with Southerners. He was excited about being in Los Angeles but was looking forward to returning home soon to participate in the annual blessing of the fleet, a major social event in the Gulfport-Biloxi area. He mentioned he had a medium-sized pleasure craft ... if 47 feet can be considered medium-sized. As he explained it, everyone of a certain status in the community owned a boat. Throughout the summer there were parties at the marina where you wander from boat to boat, drink in hand, visiting with people late into the evening. He prided himself on making a creole shrimp dish that was the talk of the harbor and said that I would have to come out sometime, sail with him and enjoy spectacular fresh seafood. It all sounded breezy and carefree, like a Jimmy Buffett or Christopher Cross song. He won me over completely.

    Dinner arrived, along with another round of margaritas. I was feeling more and more relaxed with this man from the South as we chewed our way through a perfect piece of beef. He pressed me for more details of growing up in Northern California and more ideas about what to do during his remaining few days in town. It was obvious he enjoyed my company. I felt great giving him ideas about fun things to do and surprised myself at how much cultural knowledge I'd absorbed during my relatively short time in Los Angeles. Offhandedly, he asked me if I had ever been to any of California's nude beaches that he'd heard so much about. I brightened as I explained that when I was going to school in Santa Barbara, I had a guest cottage in Summerland up the hill from one of California's most famous and popular nude beaches. I described how I used to hike down the hill in the morning in just sneakers, cut-off's and a t-shirt to a little trail that led past Pajaro Lane and Hiway 101 to the nude part of Summerland's two-mile long beach.     "You can spend all afternoon playing frisbie with the surfers who hang out naked on the beach. You can get caught up on your reading and soak up as much sun as you like and never worry about wearing a stitch. No one ever hassles you. The families with kids and clothes on stay up the north end of the beach close to the parking lot. Farther along you might run into nude couples. The surfers and free spirits and single guys looking for adventure hang out toward the south end. It's a longer trek to get to. Then there's a rocky sort of no-man's-land that separates Summerland from Carpinteria which you can only walk when the tide is way out." I didn't mention that it was this remote rocky area that was also the most likely place to run into some freewheeling tribal sex. Most guys can figure that out for themselves.

    He smiled broadly, taking a sip of his margarita. He leaned forward. With a subtle sweeping glance around the lounge to insure privacy, he confided, "I'd be too worried about my big ol' pecker coming up hard on me to relax and have fun. You have any problem keeping a boner down around all that bare-ass skin?" He gleamed at me with an I'm-a-guy-you're-a guy familiarity that set off a little wave of electricity in me. I returned the gleam.

    "This is cool," I thought." I can relax and talk about sex with this guy. He's alright!"

    Suddenly, the idea of this handsome Southerner strolling nonchalantly along the beach or stretched out on an oversized multicolored beach towel in the summer sunshine with a big juicy boner lit my imagination.

    "Don't worry," I assured him, probably without any real need." When everyone is naked, it's really a different mentality than just flipping through a Playboy magazine and getting horny looking at glossy pictures. Some of the guys do have sex in these little coves and natural rock shelters. That's for sure.
I've seen it once or twice. I don't have any problem with that myself. But I think most folks are there just to get some sun and enjoy the ocean and the beach. It's a nice feeling being out of your clothes.

    "Yes, I'm sure it's very enjoyable," he agreed. "I'll have to give it a try. Why not?" he smiled. Another sapphire twinkle flickered across his eye.

    Talking this openly about nudity and sex with a mature handsome stranger was arousing the heck out of me. There was a figment of father and son camaraderie that was reaching out to one of my vulnerable nerves. My dad had never talked to me or kidded around with me about sex the way most dads do. Being a thought-controlled Baptist by marriage ... my mom taught Sunday school ... I think he was embarrassed by the subject himself. When I was fourteen he tossed a book on my bed simply called The Facts of Life and said, "Well, you should probably read this now, but don't let your mother find it." That was it. No follow-up, no "Did you like the part about such and such..." which would have made it an endearing father-and-son conspiracy. I remember the book had a few spare black and white line drawings ... nothing I hadn't already seen in full color in the family medical encyclopedia ... and a lot of big Latin words. Pretty dull going.

    My Uncle Charlie however had the really cool stuff. Uncle Charlie was a big, happy, rambunctious Okie with a good word for everybody. He and Aunt Dolores lived in a ranch-style home in Niles, a rural part of the East Bay then as now. They served gin cocktails on weekend afternoons and it's the only place I ever saw my folks get halfway giddy. My Uncle Charlie told off-color jokes with gusto and brought out the good-humored earthiness in people. Aunt Dolores would pretend to be embarrassed by the whole thing for my mom's sake but you could see she loved her big bad boy all the more for it. He'd been in the military service in Europe and had come back with a medal or two on his chest and a treasure trove of fully illustrated marriage manuals, pictorial sex guides, and just flat-out hard-core they-kiss-on-the-streets-in-Paris pornography. The real thing. In-and-out close-ups. Whenever we'd go for a visit, hunky Charlie Junior and I would ferret out the books and magazines from behind his father's toolbox in the garage, hike off to the woods together and just get wow drunk silly flummoxed over all the pictures. Your basic teen hormonal high. There was one book I was especially attracted to whose title translated as "Variations in Sexual Behavior." It displayed every possible combination of men and women doing everything imaginable that gave me my first inkling that there was a Great Big Adventure up ahead. We'd strip down to our underwear, spread all the books and magazines around us on the grass, lay back and jack each other off through our white cotton briefs. We'd usually climax three or four times in an afternoon.

    "It's not necessarily arousing or lewd." I went on about Summerland. "It's just natural. Healthy, even. Sometimes you'll see entirely nude California hippy families playing in the surf with their kids and building sand castles and all the normal beach stuff, completely unselfconscious. It's kinda nice seeing people be that free."

    I started to think back on some of my friskier afternoon encounters on that stretch of beach. As I dawdled with the stem of my margarita glass, one especially exciting episode came to mind ... a spur-of-the-moment thing with a husky blond bisexual married naval officer up from San Diego for the weekend who was extremely well-endowed and took my ass hard behind one of those big rocks in broad daylight. The poor guy was so fired up by seeing all those golden Santa Barbara folks   naked on the beach, I think he would have screwed anything with a hole in it. After all of five minutes of "Do you come down here very often?" conversation, he had me bent over a boulder with his dick jammed so far up my tanned ass I thought it would bust out my belly button. Thank God for the coconut sun-tan lotion or I would have been seriously damaged goods.   I had to waddle uphill home as it was. Swapping sex stories with buddies, I've always joked about that little impromptu beach skirmish as being "caught between a cock and a hard place." I mean, he had me right up against a rock for godssakes, and it doesn't get more raw and primitive than that.

    I must have blushed. My new friend grinned at me across the table with a sexy flash of white teeth. He leaned forward again and said quietly, "A goodlooking guy like yourself probably makes out pretty good on a nude beach, eh?" Either my smile or the sudden sweep of color in my face had given me away. Between the talk and the tequila, my neck was getting very warm under the collar. I loosened my tie, opened the top button of my shirt and ran my hand through my new haircut, noticing it still smelled of a splash of barbershop spice.

    I stammered some sort of modest "aw shucks" reply but he smiled and winked. "Darn," I thought, "This guy is out-and-out flirting with me right here in Don Hernando's Hideaway." Not that any hotel bar is ever exclusively straight. Especially not in Los Angeles where you are assumed to be bisexual until proven otherwise. And even then. But most of the cocktail hour crowd had wandered away and only a few tables still had couples seated at them. We were safe and unnoticed behind our atmospheric screen of urban jungle foliage. "Flirt on ahead, full speed!" my inner naval officer commanded.

    "I'll have to find that place next time I come out. Maybe you can take a day off and go up the coast with me. It's called Summerland, you say? That ought to be easy to remember. Hey, I've got a bottle of fine Southern bourbon up in my room. May I invite you up for a drink?"

    He was pure Southern hospitality, one generosity after another.     "Sure thing!" I replied, even though I don't really enjoy the taste of bourbon. Heck, he could have invited me up for a sip of yesterday's dishwater and I would have said, "Sure thing!" This guy had me by the balls ... and I mean that in a pleasant way.

    It dawned on me that I was being seduced slowly, gradually, smile by smile, by a charming Southern gentleman who was in total control of the situation. He probably knew from the moment we caught each other's eye at the barbershop that he could have me. I could feel the vein in my neck pulse and my cock was starting to feel warm and hefty in my tightly cut slacks. As we slid out of the booth, I was a little embarrassed that the outline of my sex might be showing but with a swift reconnaisance glance at my dinner partner, I saw that he was showing a lot more cock through his pants than me. Well, if you've got it, flaunt it they always say.

    We rode the elevator up quietly to his floor. Walking down the empty hallway towards his room, he dragged an arm across my back and grasped my far shoulder with a wide hand. "You folks have a nice way of life here in California, that's for sure. But the tempo is faster than I care for. Everyone seems like they are stuck on fast forward. Even when people are talking to you, you get the feeling they are already thinking ahead to the next conversation or waiting for someone more important or influential or better connected to walk into the room. You come on out to the Gulf, I'll show you what Southern is all about. People take everything slower there and they savor it because they're not in a hurry. They work slower. They play slower..." and then more quietly ... "They screw slower ... " and drawing me in with a conspiratorial grin ... "unless you need it fast, darlin'."

    There was a mischievous gleam in his eye. It was obvious he was taking pleasure in the kind of man-to-man talk you exchange with a guy only when you're headed for the hay together. My smile said I was in on it. Much of the past hour had had a father-to-son quality. With twenty years difference in our ages, that would be kind of inevitable. But alone together now, he made me feel like we were two equally attractive, available males meeting on the common ground of bonestiff sex in a hotel room on the west coast of America. "Why not?" my mind echoed back to me. "Why the heck not?"

    As he opened the door to his suite, I realized that I was rock hard and slid my hands into the pockets of my slacks to adjust myself to the left, hoping to conceal how fully erect I was. He motioned me towards a stylish traditional wingback sitting chair and poured us each a glass of bourbon.

    "Kick off your shoes and relax. This bourbon will hit the spot. It's fine, old-fashioned, sippin' bourbon ...I guarantee you it will go down smooth and put a fire in your belly. And if you don't mind, I'm going to get comfortable. It's been a long day. You're welcome to get out of your clothes yourself and relax a while ... which I suggest you do before you burst the fly in the front of those ass-tight pants of yours ... " He chuckled.

    Why did I even bother hiding it? This guy was way ahead of me!

    "Sounds nice," I said, feeling pleasantly hazy and lazy from the citrusy margaritas and profoundly enjoying the sensuality of this man's company. Everything seemed to go into soft-focus as I noticed the surroundings ... a random scatter of new magazines across the luxurious bed, a change of clothes draped over the other sitting chair, a spill of miscellaneous pocket stuff across the Spanish-style writing desk along with hotel stationery, a lamp and a red telephone. And Beau, the gentle giant from the Gulf, talking like a character from a Tennessee Williams' play and undressing in slow motion in front of me.

    Stepping out of his black dress shoes, he casually unbut toned his shirt and undid his pants. His thick muscular chest was covered with a dark pelt of curly hair, bristling with silver, grey and copper lights. A pair of pronounced and extremely kissable nipples rose from two round medallions of pale crimson flesh on either side of his fur. A coarse vine of hair wandered up out of his boxer shorts across his white belly, emphasizing the carved outline of a still powerful set of abs and pecs, somewhat softened by maturity. The ripcord muscles of his forearms flexed as he stripped down. The defined veins of his arms and hands stood out with each motion. "Football," I thought to myself. "This guy had to have been linebacker material in his college days. No coach in his right mind would let a made-by-God body like that go unpunished." I was mesmerized. Luckily he took control.

    "Speaking of ass, my young friend, I've been admiring that butt of yours ever since you walked into the barbershop downstairs. Couldn't help but notice. I like a firm round fuckable ass on a man ... or a woman for that matter. Are you fuckable?"

    I liked his directness. It's very becoming to a man to be plain-spoken about sex. I handed it back. "Sure thing, Beau. But how about you bring out that big ol' Southern pecker you were bragging about so I can kiss on it for a while. You got me kind of excited at dinner and ... well ... I like the taste of cock on a big man like you."

    "No problem there." He smiled savvily and stripped off the last of his clothing. Socks and boxer shorts fell to the floor with a soft whisper. He leaned his massive Zeusian body back across the plush bedspread, his big thighs sprawling apart leisurely. He pushed the magazines to the floor on the other side of the bed with one bearish, broad-armed swipe and motioned for me to join him. What must have been a full nine or ten inches of fat curving pink dick rose proudly from his hairy groin and arched across his belly invitingly.     "Come on over, son, and show me how a California boy sucks cock. I haven't had anything since I left Mississippi and I'm afraid you've got one horny Southern daddy on your hands tonight."

    That was all I needed to hear. I took one more sociable sip of bourbon ... about all I could really manage of the taste ... and then stripped down myself, turning my back to him as I pulled off my white briefs and set them along with the rest of my clothes in a neat pile on the wingback chair. "Whew!" I heard him exhale. "Damn, boy, that's nice! That's real nice."

    Over the years, I'd been kidded or complimented enough on my ass that I finally stopped fighting off the praise and just accepted it as one of my better features. These were the days when we were all ... men and women both ... telling each other we wanted to be loved and valued for our minds and our professional accomplishments and our myriad talents, not just for our bodies as if a little honest heartfelt lust was somehow beneath us or bad for our image. Looking back, I'm not sure that my mind at the age of twenty-five was any more or less above average than it is now or all that remarkable or anything someone else ought to find attractive. My ass, however, was truly outstanding. Sometimes it feels nice to be loved for your body alone. I smiled and said, "Glad you like it, papabear...""Flirt on ahead, full speed!"

    Sliding forward across the bed, I brought my face down as close to his cock as I could without touching it. I inhaled the unmistakable salty aroma of sex and it excited me. The tip of my tongue grazed the seam of his scrotum gently as he released a long sigh of pleasure from the deep bellows of his lungs. He spread his heavy thighs farther apart and settled back onto the bed with greater comfort, all six feet four of him laying naked and open to whatever pleasure we might find together in the refuge of a rented room. I rose up a little to admire the way his full heavy sac hung down and spread out underneath his cock, filled with two large weighty oval balls, with plenty of skin to spare. This man's stuff was impressive ... like everything else about him.

    My hands wandered up across his shaggy chest. My fingertips began to caress the meaty buds of his solid nipples, while my tongue dragged slowly across his scrotum and up the underside of his curving dick. His skin tasted sweet and earthy at the same time, mingling with the salt and citrus of the margaritas still lingering on my moustache. I let the journey from his scrotum and balls up to the swollen head of his dick take forever, reversing and starting over several times. Through closed lips he began moaning quietly ... a deep rumbling lion-like purr of arousal, the sound of a dark beast of pleasure awakening in a secret cave. He wrapped both his hands around my upper arms and pulled me down closer. I've never had baseball biceps but there was plenty of meat and bulk and shaped muscle around my arms and shoulders to grab hold of. His hands were magnetic as they explored my neck and shoulders and idly stroked the back of my new-mown hair. An electrical current swept up my tailbone and rippled across my spine in a humid wave. I was smooth living mediterranean clay molding around the harder contours of his desire.

    Some guys are more like machines than lovers in bed. They move abruptly, respond jerkily and when they touch you there is an oddly remote feeling to it like they were following instructions off of some inner teleprompter. They're the ones who give "do this, do that" orders in bed as if they were directing traffic rather than making love. Somehow they missed the chapter on three hundred and sixty-degree sensuality, of blending in with another human being, of letting the lead and follow move back and forth spontaneously like a dance. Of letting Role & Control surrender to Let's Lay & Play. Or maybe their nerves were never wired completely to appreciate the sensitive side of life to begin with.

    Beau, on the other hand, was wired for love ...

    As my mouth opened to slide over the head of his wide cock, he met my lips with a slow fucking motion, sliding towards the back of my throat. His cock felt heavy and warm as he began pushing and withdrawing at an adagio tempo, enjoying all the sensations of my moist lips and tongue wrapped around his hard horny shaft.

    "Damn, son, you are one fine cocksucker. Kiss on those big ol' balls for me again."

    Letting his cock slip from my mouth, I wrapped my lips around one of his balls and lifted my head slowly away from his sex as if trying to separate it from the rest of his body. The pressure verges on the edge of pleasure and pain but builds up the excitement, especially as I was massaging his cock at the same time. I sucked playfully on his testicle and rolled it around with my tongue, relishing the shape, size and taste of it. Then I released it and took the other one in my mouth all the while stroking his hot hairy stem which was beginning to glide with a steady ooze of pre-cum. He moaned with pleasure, a low growl of approval for what this frisky boy beast was up to.

    I slid down behind his balls and let my tongue wander towards his asshole. He sensed my destination and lifted his powerful thighs towards his chest to make the passage to his ass easier. As I licked the hot hairy hole in the center of his round cushioned buttocks he grasped his thighs with his hands and pulled them up closer, offering me more of his ass. I lathered his asshole with my tongue and pushed my head farther up the crack of his ass, my broad chin pressing up against the division, and my tongue seeking out the depth of his hole.

    "Fuck, boy, I haven't had anyone rim my ass like that in years. Damn, you're great! I think I'm gonna keep you for sure."

    I smiled and looked up at him, light-headed with pleasure.
I caught another sapphire glint from his eye and the flash of a satisfied grin. Then I went back down into the muscular crevice and continued licking and kissing his sensitive asshole while stroking his huge cock. After a while he lowered his legs on either side of me and shifted his position a little.

    "Come up here on my chest, son, and feed me that young dick. You've got this old man horny as heck and I want to taste that hot dick of yours before I get you belly down and fuck the hell out of your pretty ass."

    I rose up and straddled his chest as he took my engorged cock in his mouth and began sucking it long and slow. His mouth was powerful. He put an unbreakable suction around my cock that I still can't forget. He was as hungry as I was. His wide hands grasped my hips and ass as he pulled my whole body back and forth across his chest. I braced my self against the headboard as he devoured me. I could feel the entire length of my yearning shaft disappear into his cock-starved mouth. I was fucking his mouth good but as much as I wanted to release all my pent-up maleness, I decided I'd better settle down before I went over the edge. After I ejaculate, I lose interest in sex fairly quickly and I wanted this interlude to last. Besides, I hadn't been fucked in months and wanted it badly. The idea of getting belly down for this big handsome Southern man had fired up my curiosity.

    "I bet you can fuck really good, can't you, sir?"

    "You bet, boy. I can fuck like a goddam farm animal ... and have been since I was thirteen. We start young in the South. I've made a lot of people ... men and women ... very happy," he bragged. " I want to see this big fat cock of mine sliding in and out of your sassy ass. Do you think you can take all this?"

    "Sure thing. I had a black buddy one summer with a twelve inch cock who taught me how to relax and open my ass for him and his service buddies. We tried out every position you can imagine. He managed to get most of that huge thing in me just fine. I learned to enjoy the feeling of being penetrated. It usually takes a minute or two for me to adjust but after that it's fun and easy." I explained. It was pleasant remembering my buddy Taj who was stationed at Holloman Air Force Base in Alamogordo, New Mexico. He was a tall handsome black pilot who could really fill out a uniform. We had a lot of good times together until I had to move north to Santa Fe to take a job working on the newspaper there.

    "Alright, son. Sounds good. Why don't you get over on your hands and knees for me and let me grease this big ol' pecker up for you."

    He reached for a small jar of vaseline in the drawer of the bed table while I dutifully turned over on my hands and knees and offered him my young ass. Kneeling behind me, he greased his own cock first. Then he gently greased the outside of my asshole. Gradually he introduced a finger into my ass, digging deep into the dark channel. After the first exploratory probe he added more grease and pushed two large fingers as far up my asshole as possible. I gasped but quickly met the two fingers with relaxation and reminded myself to breathe deeply. He reached underneath me and greased my cock generously. He positioned himself at my asshole and slid in slowly. I felt so vulnerable and helpless in this position but I opened readily to his first full body lunge. God, it felt so smooth and huge and awesome. I was completely filled up by him.

    "Damn, boy, you're ass is tight. This is going to be some good fuckin'!"

    "Thank you, sir, " I said. Regardless of any momentary discomfort I might experience, pleasing him was my number one priority. Having his huge beautiful cock buried deep inside me made me feel intensely desirable. The physical sensation was incredible as his cock beat against my butt and his balls slapped rhythmically against my own pair of nuts. The psychological value of being wanted and used for sex by a handsome worldly masculine man, of taking his naked raw mature masculinity into my young and willing flesh, filled me with a kind of fierce pride. I was profoundly happy and satisfied giving him such intimate comfort and pleasure.

    "Oh, yeah, son, squeeze my cock hard with that tight young ass. Let me feel your ass squeezing the juice outta my dick. Thataboy!"

    I tightened my asshole around his cock. There is an art to being the receiving partner of a butt-fucking team. My black buddy Taj had taught me to relax my asshole completely on his forward thrusts, opening as wide as possible to receive his sex as he pressed into me. Then, as his cock withdrew, to squeeze and tighten the ring of rectal muscle, grabbing and pulling on the shaft. This creates a very powerful sensation of being held and stroked.

    "Oh yeah, boy, you like this big ol' daddy dick shoved up your ass,don't ya?"

    "Yeah, it feels great. Fuck me hard. I can take it, sir."

    "You've been needing some hard cock thrown into your ass, haven't ya, boy?"

    "Yes, sir. Please fuck me hard, really hard, sir."

    Beau began to fuck faster and deeper, slapping my ass rudely with his big hairy hand as if he was on a horse. But I didn't mind, the contact was exciting as heck. He could do anything he wanted to me. The vaseline and the pre-cum and the natural physical moistness and sweat had all merged and blended into a perfect gripping ride. I could tell Beau was getting close to the inevitable point of no return and I braced myself for the impact of the oncoming full-body climax. Beau's cock was at the point of peak arousal and felt about as hard as a hammer handle pumping away at my rear end. I wasn't going to be able to stave off my own orgasm much longer so I began to buck back with each of his champion breeding thrusts. His groans of pleasure became ferocious. As his cock burst its full load of high octane juice into my ass he reached around my belly and jacked my dick off fast.

    "Oh God!" I moaned with pleasure. "Oh God, Beau! I'm fucking coming!"

    "Yeah, fire that fucker off, son. Show your Southern daddy you can shoot a man's load for him. Oh yeah! Oh, yeah! Shoot that firecracker off for me, boy!"

    After only four or five hard ball-busting strokes, my cock volleyed a major round of ammunition into his big strong hand and all over his fingers. I fell forward onto the bed, trying to catch my breath. Beau, still embedded in my backside, turned me over on my side and put his arm around me, holding me close as my passionate breathing gradually returned to normal. He stayed hard for quite a while and then slipped out of me as I began to doze off.

    "Damn, that was nice, boy," he whispered close into my ear. "Lay still. I'll clean us up a little."

    He went into the bathroom and returned with a plush white hotel towel bearing the Beverly-Wilshire monogram. He stroked my body with it and then wiped himself off as I wafted in and out of consciousness.

    "Would you like to spend the night with me?" He asked.

    "Sure thing," I said. "Someone at work might notice I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday but that doesn't really matter to me."

    "Don't worry about it, son. Tomorrow morning after breakfast, I'll take you shopping at the hotel men's store and pick up a new shirt and a pair of slacks for you. Would you like that?"

    "That's really nice of you, Beau, but you don't have to do that for me. I can run back to my place and change. It's just a few blocks away."

    "No, I'd like to do something nice for you. You've given me the first real affection   I've had since I got to this crazy town. Let me show you some appreciation. Pick out whatever you want and I'll get it for you. Besides, I'd be proud to have a handsome California boy waiting for me out here on the coast next time I come out so I'd better treat you right, haven't I?." He smiled and beamed another twinkling sapphire at me. The man's charisma had no end.

    I got up to go to the bathroom as he turned down the covers. I looked into the mirror as I splashed water on my face. My skin glowed with the rose after-burn of sex. I considered showering but I didn't want to rinse the feeling of Beau off. Climbing into bed next to him, I felt warm and human and loved, completely at home in my skin. Like me, he was a cuddler. He wrapped his big nude body around me gracefully like a robe of soft fur all night long. I slept deeply and dreamed of islands and dolphins and ships and rippling seas and billowing sails and blue eyes until dawn.

    We made love again in the morning, taking each other's cocks into our mouths and sucking the sweet white sexual milk from each other tenderly. He made me feel special. Whatever we did in bed together was new and wonderful and meaningful, as if we were the first human beings ever to discover sex and each act and movement of physical love was our own invention.

    We were able to meet several more times before he returned to the gulf. A few weeks after he left I got a handwritten letter from him. In it were recent pictures of him, his boat and his friends taken at a party after the blessing of the fleet just as he had described at our first dinner together ... and a roundtrip airplane ticket from Los Angeles to New Orleans where he'd reserved a bed-and-breakfast room for us for the weekend at an old mansion nestled beside Lake Pontchartrain.

    But that's another story on the way to Summer Island.

•    originally published in Daddy Magazine and appears here with the kind permission of Yoshi

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

adambenhur@yahoo.com is my pen name and also my email address. I work at home in Cupertino, California in computer graphics, animation and illustration. Writing my erotic memoirs has been a lot of fun for me and I’ve had several stories published, including "A Flame of Flesh ... for Eric" in the West Beach Books anthology “Buttmen” and “Conversation in a Treehouse … for Birch” published by Men’s Web. My story "Adam's Treehouse ... the making of a bisexual male tribe in Northern California" will be published in the upcoming Haworth Press publication "Bi Men: Coming Out Every Which Way" edited by Pete Chvany and Ron Suresha. So far, all my stories are written from my own life experiences and I hope they ring true for you, the reader, also. An introduction to all my stories appears here. You’re welcome to write to me at adambenhur@yahoo.com. I’d enjoy hearing from you. Take care.

"Rest and be kind ...

there is nothing to prove "

Buddha

page design, graphics and animation © 2005 Adam Victor Christensen