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Message-ID: <28033asstr$977721003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Webster Dazell <webdazell@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Arrangement 1-5 b/b m/b IR True   Breaking The Arrangement 1 b/b oral Ture
Date: Mon, 25 Dec 2000 00:10:03 -0500
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   <1st attachment, "Breaking%20The%20Arrangement%201.txt" begin>

   A note to readers of The Arrangement:

   Several of you have sent me e-mails asking if The Arrangement is really
a true story.  It is.  What you are reading about actually happened to me
in the late 60's.  Many of the details in the story are as sharp in my
memory today as when they first happened.  Now, after all these years have
passed, I don't claim (ala Archie Goodwin) to be able to remember all of
the conversations word for word (Especially not what the suckees said as
they spilled their seed across my tongue, I was too busy to take notes and,
anyhow I never dreamed back then that I would be writing about it today.).
But the dialogue in the story is at least in the general vicinity of what
was said or groaned and in some cases it is almost exact (because some
things do stick with you for a lifetime.) So as you read this story
remember these events did happen to me.  Nothing important in this story is
fiction.

   When the stories from the Savannah Kid (and if you haven't read them I
recommend them to you.  The Kid's work can be found in the "Prolific Net
Authors" archive at Nifty.org) led me to start writing The Arrangement, I
planned to do so in three parts, each of which would have four to seven
installments (Shameless plug time: those of you missing any of The
Arrangement 1-5 can find it either at Nifty.org in their gay male/high
school archive or at EroticStories.com's male/male site under author Web
Dazell).  Breaking The Arrangement 1 is the first installment of the second
part of the story.

   Whether or not this story is ever completed is up to you.  At the end of
each installment of The Arrangement I asked " If you've liked this
installment of a true story and think I should continue to tell you about
my adventures as a high school student please let me know at
webdazell@yahoo.com" After The Arrangement 5 was posted in December I
received only three e-mails commenting on the story.

   George Orwell once said "All writers are vain, selfish and lazy." I'm no
different.While no one asked me to write The Arrangement in the first
place, when I don't get any response I wonder whether or not to make the
effort to continue.  So if you do want to keep reading this story, please
take the time to send me an e-mail and let me know what you think.

  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------

   My name is Webster Dazell and this is a story about many things: growing
up in the Sixties, friendship, trust, hope, disappointment, and, of course,
sex.  Most of all it's the story of a young man growing up on a farm in the
nation's heartland finding out just who and what he is.  It's my story.  I
hope you enjoy it.

   Breaking The Arrangement 1: A continuation of a true story

   The weekend at his grandmother's apartment and our activities with Mr.
Grambs marked another turning point in my relationship with my friend Evan.
Before that weekend sex was just another part of our friendship and not
even the major part.  But after that weekend, Evan turned into one horny
bastard.

   As before, we still continued to do everything together we used to. 
We'd ride our bikes, fish and swim in the creek, do farm chores together
and we still worked on cars in the barn.  But before our sexplay was an
occasional thing; now Evan was always looking for a chance to slip his dick
into my mouth, and it being summer and school being out, he had plenty of
chances.

   Not that I was complaining understand.  I loved sucking Evan's cock,
letting him feed me his come, swirling it around in my mouth before I
swallowed.  But you really can get too much of a good thing.

   Take the time we went fishing in Babcock Creek.  We had a spot we liked
to fish in, one not too far down from the bridge where we always had pretty
good luck.  If the fish weren't biting then we'd go for a swim, not where
we fished, the water there was too shallow for that.  But back upstream the
creek had been scooped out when the bridge was built in the Thirties's,
leaving a hidden swimming hole right underneath the bridge.  We'd hang onto
the I-beams and work our way out to the middle of the creek like we were on
monkey bars.  Then we'd let go, drop about ten feet and "splash."

   The sides of the embankment along side and under the bridge were made of
concrete to help keep the roadbed in place.  This gave us a ledge at the
top of either side where, while we couldn't stand, we could sit.  The ledge
went back about four feet so we had plenty of space to spread out.  There
were a couple of blankets there we had brought on previous trips so we
could eat lunch without scraping all the skin off our legs.  Of course,
they had another use as well.

   Anyway, we finished up the chores that morning around 11 and, since we
didn't have to do chores again until 3, we decided to go fishing.  Because
it was hot out we both changed out of our work clothes, wriggling into swim
shorts and tennis shoes.  The sun felt good against our bare backs and legs
as we peddled our way along the rutted dirt road over to the creek (about
3/4 of a mile away.), our bikes rattling with every bump and hole in the
road.  We had to be careful not to drop our fishing rods which were
balanced across our handlebars and held in this precarious position by one
grasping hand.

   When we got to the bridge, we walked our bikes down the side of road and
leaned them against one of the pillars that helped hold up the bridge. 
This way our bikes were out of sight of anyone passing by on the road. 
(Not that we had ever had anything stolen but why take chances.) I was
stringing the line through my rod when Evan started to talk with me.

   "Web, you're pretty good at that science stuff.  I was reading in one of
my dad's fishing magazines that fish don't see things the same way we do."
Now Evan was a C-average student and he didn't like any of the science
classed we had to take, preferring auto mechanics or gym, so this sudden
interest in matters piscine puzzled me.

   "I mean I can understand a fish rising to a fly, that's natural cause we
see bugs land on the water all the time.  Even a fish striking at a lure
makes sense to me.  Bigger fish eat smaller fish, we've seen them eat the
minnows in this creek.  But what in the world would make a fish go for a
worm on a hook.  That doesn't seem right to me.  There ain't no worms in
the creek unless we throw one in, they sure don't crawl in by themselves.
And any worm we throw in doesn't float.  It sinks to the bottom and drowns.
So how come a fish will eat a worm?  If you were a fish Web, would you want
to eat a fat, big pink worm?"

   When I turned around to answer Evan, I saw him kneeling on the ledge
above, his swimsuit next to him, his semi-flaccid prick waggling up and
down and back and forth between two fingers.  "What about it Web?  If you
were a fish would you want to eat a juicy old worm like this one?"

   "I don't know.  If I were a fish I don't think I'd be tempted by such a
puny little worm like that one," I said even as I started the ascent up the
sloping concrete wall.  "I'd like my worms to be a little harder so I had
something to chew on."

   "I can't believe a poor scrawny starving fish like you would turn down a
meal as good as this one," Evan said stroking his firming erection with his
fingertips, the foreskin beginning to smear his precum over the glistening
head of his cock.  "I just bet I could land me something nice with this
particular worm, don't you cocksucker?" My nod of agreement put the first
three inches of Evan's rod back into my mouth, the tip poking the far end
of my tongue just short of my throat.

   Evan laid back down on the blanket, his hands drawing my head further
down on his dick.  "That's it Web, just keep moving your head up and down
like that, you look like a bobber on the end of a struck line.  Come on
Web, suck me, suck me hard, blow's just an expression."

   I redoubled my oral efforts on his thick, flat dick, leaving my hands
free to massage his balls.  In the distance I heard the sound of a truck
coming down the road.  It was coming our way fast.  I tried to pull my head
off Evan's cock but he held me in place with his hands.  "I'm almost there
Web.  Forget about the goddamn truck and suck me.  Faster man, be a good
scumeater and make me come."

   Evan's explosion into my mouth came almost simultaneously with the rain
of dirt and pebbles on my back as the truck thundered over the bridge.  As
the dust from its passage settled, I abandoned the now spent prick and sat
up, shaking some of the dust from my hair.

   "Well, I think we've settled the question about the worm don't you," I
asked Evan as we both perched on the edge of the ledge, recovering from our
exertions.  "Fish eat worms for the same reasons we eat Twinkees.  They
want the cream inside." Evan groaned and gave me a light punch in the arm.

   "That joke's so bad you're going to have to suck me off again to make up
for it.' And I did.  In fact, I coaxed Evan to climax three times before we
had to leave to get back to our chores, although each time I had to use
more and more hand to make him come and my "creamy" reward got smaller each
time.  After his fourth and final orgasm, my lips were as chapped as though
I had spent the day in a desert and Evan's dick was red, sore and swollen.
He complained about the way it rubbed against his work clothes for three
days afterwards.  I just laughed and told him to use liberal applications
of Cornhusker Lotion.

   Which was another change in Evan.  Not the Cornhusker Lotion but his
renewed interest in cornholing me.  At first he just dropped hints that he
wanted to stick his dick up my ass.  I ignored his hints which then got
increasingly less subtle (Not that Evan was ever very subtle to begin with)
until he finally came out and asked why I wouldn't let him butt-fuck me.

   "Because it hurts."

   "Don't be a sissy.  It'll only hurt for a little while.  Then you'll get
used to it.  Besides I'll be gentle.  Just let me put the head in.  I won't
go any further."

   "No, we tried that and it hurt."

   "Come on Web, be a man.  Bend over for me.  You'll like it once I get it
all the way in.  It'll feel real good."

   "If it'll feel so good, lemme do it to you."

   "Hey man, you're the cocksucker in this relationship not me.  And as
long as you're sucking cock why not try taking it up the ass.  Old man
Grambs said you have the perfect butt for it and I already know you're
sticking that enema tube up there when you jack-off.  Why not my dick?"

   "Because the tube doesn't hurt and you do."

   "OK, let's do this.  We'll measure how big around my dick is OK?  Then
you can start sticking something a little bigger up your ass each time
until you get to where you're riding on something that's just a little
larger than my cock is.  Then you know it won't hurt when I butt-fuck you.
Whada ya say?"

   A little intrigued, I told Evan I'd think about it.  The nozzle from the
enema kit did feel good and I was kinda curious about how Evan's cock would
feel in my ass.  It's just that it hurt so much the couple of times we'd
tried it.  My ass even bled a little for a couple of days afterwards. 
Still, maybe Evan had a good idea.  If I stretched my ass slowly and got
used to the size, it might not hurt.

   "OK Web.  I'm holdin' you to that.  Now let's get a tape measure and see
how big I am.  And while you're down there measuring, I think I might have
another mouthful for you.You're gettin' a little skinny.  I don't think
you're getting enough protein."

   If you've liked this installment of a true story and think I should
continue to tell you about my adventures as a high school student please
let me know at webdazell@yahoo.com.  Remember, if I don't hear from you, I
have no reason to continue this story.

   <1st attachment end>

   <2nd attachment, "the-arrangement-1-5.txt" begin>

   What follows is a true story.

   When I was younger a friend and I used to do the usual kid stuff in his
father's barn and our agreement was that it was OK because neither of us
would tell on the other.

   At first it was the "you show me yours and I'll show you mine," type of
stuff.  After that we got into the dares, the same sort or half-kidding /
half-serious banter kids do.

   One day I was looking as his uncut cock when he asked me to give him a
handjob "You know you want to, I can see it in your eyes.  Come on, I won't
tell anybody and I know you won't.  Just spit on your hand and rub my dick
for a little while.  After I come, I'll rub yours."

   After a few handjobs (which grew less and less mutual as time went on) I
spent a Friday night at his house.  His bedroom was upstairs on the other
side of the house from his parents who slept downstairs.  There were two
beds in his room, his and an older brother's who had joined the army.  We
had snuck a couple of beers from the fridge (which was always full on a
farm) and we were high and giddy like two teenagers can get on some
forbidden beers but not drunk.

   He reached under his pillow on pulled out a red foil square.  "I know
you want to blow me, I've seen you licking your lips while you jack me off.
I'll put on this rubber (which he had stolen from his father's dresser) and
you can suck me without getting any jizz in you mouth cause I know you
don't like the taste.  (Which was true, I had accidentally licked my hand
after one of our jack off sessions and immediately spit out his sperm.)
Come on it'll be fun.  You want to and I want you to and no one will know."

   Well he was right, I did want to.  I wanted to know how his dick would
feel in my mouth.  When I jacked him off his dick was hot and hard and flat
on the top.  It was like holding one of those square carpenter pencil in my
hand, only a little shorter and a lot thicker.  My mouth went dry and my
head was tight and pounding, my breath coming in small catches.  Jacking a
guy off was one thing, sucking his dick was another.  One was play, the
other, well the other was queer.  "Hey Web, don't be afraid.  The rubber
will catch everything.  It'll be just like jacking me off only you'll be
using your lips instead of your fingers.

   I agreed to suck him, IF he would wear the rubber.

   He opened the package and pulled out the condom.  Then he smiled and
said "As long as you're going to suck me, why don't you put the rubber on
my dick?" I can still remember the feel of the latex uncurling at the
bottom on my hand as I slid the rubber down his warm erection.  After that,
well, his cock felt just right in my mouth.  That set a new pattern for our
activities, handjobs were old stuff, kid's stuff, only used as foreplay, a
prelude to my sliding the unlubricated Trojan down his erection and plying
"bobbing for apples" in his crotch.  One night he even got me to suck his
balls.  This too became a regular part of our festivities.  But always the
rubber because if his cum didn't touch my tongue I wasn't really a
cocksucker.

   After about two months of this (and this didn't happen every day or even
every week sometimes) I was over to his house to watch some television. 
His parents were out bowling (it was their league night) so we listened to
some "Rusty Warren records "Knockers Up" I think the name was, and laughed
at this forbidden adult humor (very lame by today's standards).  Instead of
beer, we snuck into the liquor supply and poured ourselves some rum which
we mixed with orange juice.  Later we started looking at some Playboys from
his father's closet, our pants developing ridgepoles in a very quick
fashion.

   "Come `on let's go up stairs before my parents get back.  I need a
blowjob bad and if you lick your lips one more time while you look at me
I'm going to waste my load in my pants."

   As we walked up the narrow stairs to his room, I noticed he had brought
the bottle of rum with him.  When he saw me looking at the bottle he
laughed and said, "Don't worry, you'll find out what this is for, now come
on let's get going."

   Once we undressed and he was laying on his back on the bed, things
progressed a little faster than usual, we wanted to finish having our fun
before his parents got home.  God knows what would happen if they caught
us. Nothing pleasant, that's for sure.

   As my hand stroked his cock, he leaked precum liked an oil derrick about
to erupt.  His hand reached out to stop my caresses.  " You do that anymore
Web and I'm gonna shoot.  Come on take it in your mouth.  Suck me off."

   "Where's the rubber," I asked looking at the nightstand next to the bed.
"Don't have any," he replied with a gleam in his eye.  "Dad's either out or
he's putting them someplace else.  That's what the rum's for."

   I sat up stupefied, my hand still wrapped tightly around his dick, my
fingers feeling his juices oozing slowly down across them.

   "Listen stupid, I don't have any rubber but I do have a load of jizz in
my balls that needs to come out and I don't want a handjob.  The only
reason we've been using a rubber when you suck my cock is because you don't
like the taste.  Well take a swig of that rum, swish it around your mouth
and swallow it.  It'll kill the taste and you can have another swig when
you're done.  Hurry up, we don't have all night.  You're a cocksucker. 
You're my cocksucker, now get going and suck my cock."

   Almost mesmerized I did as I had been bidden.  The rum tasted sharp and
harsh in my mouth but his cock, his cock was like velvet wrapped steel and
his precum quickly coated the inside of my mouth and soothed the burning of
the alcohol.

   "Oh god, Web that feels great.  Hold still.  Don't move.  Ok now play
with my balls, Hey, not so hard, be gentle when you roll them around.

   "Ok now suck hard.  Wrap those lips on my dick so no air gets in. 
That's it.  That's it.  Stick your tongue in my pisshole, wriggle it
around. Oh man that's so great.  Eat my dick you little cocksucker."

   And then he did something he had never done in all the other times I had
sucked him.  He reached down with his arms (which were always crossed
behind his head, he liked to sit semi-upright while I sucked him, his back
against the headboard.  Said it was a great view, better than anything he'd
seen in Playboy.) and took my head between his hands.  Holding me steady
and with a sound like a cross between a moan and a throb he treated me to
my first real taste of sperm.

   The Arrangement 2:

   A Continuation of a True Story

   The night he gave me my first mouthful of sperm marked still another
change in the relationship.  It was now a special sort of give and take
association, one where he gave me his sperm and I took it.  All pretense
our's was a merry marching mutual masturbation society vanished.  The few
handjobs he had given me (he had never even come close to my dick with his
lips) were long forgotten.  I was there to service him.  To slobber over
his hard-on.  To pump it with hand and lips until it went limp with
satisfaction.  To catch his spendings in my palm or in my mouth.  And I
found I didn't mind.

   It just seemed so natural, so right to be his sexual servant, to watch
his soft cock grow stiff under my ministrations, to feel its strength, to
rejoice in his moans of pleasure.  I didn't need the roughness of his
callused young farmer's hands on my dick to bring me satisfaction.  The
sight of his white sperm jetting in a creamy arc, the feel of its hot
wetness splashing on my flesh, its thick coppery taste dancing on my tongue
(yes, I had begun to suck him without the rubber or the rum but still
hadn't swallowed) were my reward and, if they weren't enough to get me off
right then, well a few self-administered strokes of my dick always did the
trick.

   The oddest thing about this was our sex didn't affect our friendship. 
It was as though we were two different sets of people.  We continued to
fish, swim and ride our bikes together.  We did chores on the farm
together, worked on cars together and all without the slightest aura of
sexual longing.  I guess we led two lives.

   And, unlike most of the stories you read, despite being young teens, (He
was three years older than I.) we weren't having sex at every opportunity
(or maybe it's more correct al la President Clinton who thinks oral sex is
only sex to the giver, to say I wasn't having sex at every opportunity.)
For the most part our only sex play was when we'd spend the night together.

   Then there was no question what was going to happen.  From the moment we
entered the bedroom and he took his clothes off I would spend the night
between his legs, coaxing him to climax, once, twice and even three times
if I could.  So I was excited and so was he when we went to spend the
weekend at his grandmother's in the big city, especially since we hadn't
spent the night together in over a month.

   We'd stayed at his grandmother's before but not since our relationship
had heated up.  She lived on the seventh floor of a large brownstone
apartment building in a racially-mixed neighborhood.  His grandmother was
in her early 70's and very hard of hearing, which fit nicely into our
plans. She only had one bedroom in her apartment, so we got to sleep on the
fold-out couch in her living room, a very small fold-out couch.

   I can still remember the trip to his grandmother's.  Teasing him as he
drove and how his dick thickened when I rubbed it through his blue jeans, a
wet spot forming on the left side of his fly.  Stopping at the small party
store to by a Playboy and a bottle of Cornhusker's Lotion (the big black
woman running the store winking at me when I nervously made my purchase.)
Motown tunes and Hot Times/Summer in the City playing on the AM radio. 
Driving several blocks out of our way to watch the streetwalkers strut
their stuff.

   We'd only been at his grandmother's for about an hour when she asked us
to go and get some boxes from her storage area.  The brownstone's basement
had been divided into individual storage areas, really just cages made of
wood frames and chicken wire, with padlocked latches which passed for
security.

   Once thing led to another ("Tease me will you..  I'm not waiting until
tonight.  You're going to get me off right now.) and I found myself down on
my knees over in a corner of the storeroom with a mouthful of cock.  We
thought the boxes would keep anyone from seeing us.  We were wrong.

   "Now ain't this just a pretty sight?" a deep voice boomed out.  "That
boy there look's like he sucks cock better than my wife or my girl friend.
I just gotta get me somethat."

   I started to get up as a big hand applied pressure to my shoulder.  "Uh
uh, you're ain't going nowhere least til we gets this straightened out."
Looking up a saw a black black man in his mid- fifties.  I recognized him
as a neighbor of my friend's grandmother who knew both of us.

   "___, asked me to give you boys a hand getting those boxes up from the
basement.  Now unless you want me to tell her what I saw down here, break
that old woman's heart it would, I'm going to give you a little more than a
hand.  I'm gonna give you about seven inches."

   We were scared and trapped.  If we didn't do what he wanted, well that
wasn't an option.  We mumbled our acceptance.

   "Ok," he told my friend, "you go out by the elevator and make sure no
one else comes down.  Webster, you zip my pants and take out my johnson."
We did as we were told.

   His dick was swelling in my hand, large but rounder and softer than my
friend's.  My breath caught in my throat as I stuck my tongue out to give
it a first lick.  Holding the tip in my mouth I reached up with my and
undid his brass belt buckle.  He undid the snap of his pants and they fell
to the floor around his ankles.  My hand started kneading his ass while I
suckled on his prick like a young puppy on his mother's tits.

   I was lost in the moment, a moment of discovery, it wasn't just my
friend's dick I liked sucking on, it was this man's dick too.  And if I
liked sucking these dicks, maybe I'd like sucking others.

   I paused in my sucking to lick at his fat, hairy balls, spitwashing
them. They began to roll around in his sack, rising and falling with the
motions of my tongue.

   "Oh yeah that's nice boy but get back to business.  We ain't got all day
and we don't want grandma coming down here to see what's happening."

   I licked my way back up his cock savoring the taste of his drippings. 
They seemed almost sweet.  I played with his balls squeezing them in my
hands.  I choked as his cock hit the back of my throat.  He withdrew a
little.

   "Come on Web.  Time's awasting.  I'm gettin close.  Start suckin for all
you worth."

   I tightened my lips and began bobbing my head up and down as fast as I
could on his dick, trying to go a little closer to his crotch with every
store, determined to bury my nose in those curly black public hairs.  I
laid my tongue flat in my mouth to provide his rod with deeper access.  And
I worried, worried that the softness of his cock meant that he would never
come, that like my friend when his cock was only semi-hard he had had too
much to drink and that all my efforts would be without a cocksucker's
reward, that mouthful of manjuice.

   Suddenly he stretched upwards standing on his tiptoes.  My lips would
have lost their seal on his cock if he hadn't grabbed the sides of my head
with his hands and guided me upwards with him.

   His cock pulsed, I could actually feel the sperm shooting down the
cockvein resting on the top of my tongue before it oozed out of the tip, a
slower ejaculation than I was used to.

   Taking my mouth off his shrinking cock, I turned my head and began to
spit only to be stopped by his hand grabbing my hair and yanking my head up
and backwards.

   "Web, you probably ain't sucked many men's cocks.  So let me give you a
little lesson in manners.  I had to teach this to my wife and some of my
girlfriends and if you're going suck cocks you better know it too.," he
said staring down into my eyes.  "Don't you ever spit out a man's
offerings, that's disrespectful.  If a man fills your mouth you swallow and
then you thanks him and you axs for more.  You got that?"

   His hand loosened its grip enough for me to nod my agreement.  "Good
boy. Now open your mouth and let me see you swallow.  I want to watch my
sperm slide down your tongue and into your throat."

   It was hard to swallow with my mouth opened but I did as he commanded
watching him smile as my throat worked his gift down to my stomach.  For
the first time in my life, I was not only a cocksucker, I was now a
cumeater as well.

   As I pulled his pants back up his legs (he wasn't wearing any underwear)
my chocolate conqueror released his grip on my head, playfully ruffling my
hair with his big meaty hand as he did so.  "Now that was nice, Web. 
You've got a sweet mouth on you and you took to my dick like a hog to a
trough.  How'd you like swallowing my cum?"

   Wordlessly, I answered by allowing his pants to drop back to the floor
and wrapping my left hand tight around the base of his now flaccid cock. 
Slowly I moved my hand up toward the tip of his coffee-colored serpent like
a boy trying to squeeze the last dollop of toothpaste out of the tube,
forcing his sperm onto my extended tongue.  After a final lick to capture
the single glistening drop hanging from his slit, I stood up and, mouth
open, swallowed his offering as though it were nectar from the gods.

   A peal of laughter as loud and sudden as a burst of thunder escaped from
his lips.  "Boy, you are sumptin else.  We're damn sure going to have some
good times.  Now get the stuff out of those boxes while I go and talk to
your friend."

   The coming of evening lagged as slowly as a child being sent to the
principal's office.  Once we had returned to his grandmother's apartment,
my friend and I were only alone for a few minutes, never long enough for
any real conversation about what had happened in the basement.  We had to
content ourselves with exchanging glances over the Chinese Checkers board.

   As the time went by, I began to question my actions in the basement. 
Regret warred with satisfaction.  Why didn't I just get up and run?  Why
did I let him make me suck him?  Why did I swallow?  And why the hell did
in milk him like I did?  Being afraid would account for most of what I did
in the basement but not that last.  He was done.  He'd come.  All I had to
do was give him a yes or no answer.  But I hadn't at least not verbally. 
So why did I do it, what did it mean?  These questions kept running through
my head like a gerbil on an exercise wheel.

   Finally his grandmother decided to call it a night and, with an
admonition not to stay up too late watching the late night horror movies on
a local tv channel, went off to her bedroom shutting the door tight behind
her.  Even after what had happened in the basement we knew we didn't have
to worry about his grandmother catching us.  She took a sleeping pill every
night that knocked her out until morning.

   "Hey Web, I'm sorry man," my friend said as we pulled the sofa bed out
from the living room couch, his voice pitched soft in apology.  "I never
thought we'd get caught.  I've been down in that basement dozens of times
to get stuff and no one every comes down there.  I meant what I said when
we started that no one else would know about us.  I sure wasn't going to
tell anyone."

   I didn't reply, unsure of what I should say.

   "I never thought Old Man Grambs would catch us down there and even after
he did I never ever thought he'd have you suck him off.  Christ, he's
married and he's got a couple of kids older than we are.  At least he told
me you blew him Did you?  Did he make you suck him off?"

   Looking directly into my friend's eyes and watching to see how he'd
react, I gave a brief shallow nod of my head.  His face began to exhibit a
feral excitement like an animal stalking its prey.

   "Yeah, he told me you did," his voice still softly pitched but
coarsening in tone.  "`Your boy Web was on my fat johnson like a bear
stealing honey from a bee tree.' That's what he said.  `Kid was like a
starving man at a banquet.  Couldn't get enough, left me as wrung out and
limp as an old linen dish rag.' Said you liked it too.  Was he right Web?
Did you like sucking his black cock?"

   Again I nodded my acquiescence and, with the downward stroke of my head,
I noticed the fly in his blue cotton pajamas had begun to bulge outward,
his boner uncoiling like a thick branch that had been bent into a bow and
now was being slowly released.

   "God, I wish I'd been there to see it.  You on your knees, his dick deep
in your mouth.  You look so hot with my cock in your mouth.  I just love
watching you work when you give me head, how your lips stretch, the way
your cheeks puff in and out.  Well, maybe next time.  And next time may be
tomorrow."

   I managed to force a croaked "Why, why tomorrow" past my dry throat and
mouth.

   "The old man wants you to suck him off again you know," he told me, each
sentence he spoke stimulating both of us.  "Asked me to bring you over to
his apartment tomorrow before we leave.  His wife is at her sister's until
Wednesday.  Should I do that Web?  Should I walk you over to Grambs' so you
can have one more taste of his pecker before we leave?  And if I do will
you let me watch?  Maybe you can take even turns and suck us both off.  I
think we'd all like that."

   As he continued to speak, my eyes were again drawn to the fly of his
pajamas.  His rock hard dick had erupted from his fly and jutting straight
out its head gleaming with shiny precum.  I felt my dry mouth start to
moisten with saliva.

   I couldn't help myself.  I dropped to my hands and knees on the bed and
scuttled across its chenille cover like a crab.  Reaching out with my
hands, I pulled him closer, capturing his prick in my mouth, locking my
lips just behind the ridge of his helmet, my tongue swabbing him clean of
precum.  He started to rock back and forth driving his cock in and out as I
lightly scraped his skin with my teeth.  Then quite unexpectedly, so
unexpectedly I started to toter, he pulled himself out of my mouth, his
dick making a soft, wet "pop" sound as it left.  As he kept me from falling
forward, I could see the red marks my rasping incisors had left on his
skin.

   "Not so fast Web, I want you to see something.  I'm going to the
bathroom for a minute and while I'm gone I want you to turn off all the
lights except for the TV.  Then take off your pajamas and get under the
covers.  I'll be back in a minute."

   I took advantage of his absence to run to the kitchen and drink a big
glass of water.  As I refilled the glass from the pitcher his grandmother
kept in the refrigerator, I could hear him rummaging around in the bathroom
and talking to himself.  "Now where'd she put it.  I know it's around here
somewhere.' I could hear drawers opening and closing.  "Ah, there it is."

   I had just managed to finish turning off the lights (I had been too busy
to give a lot of thought to what he had been looking for) when my friend
came around the corner holding something shiny behind his back.  "Web,
aren't you supposed to be under those covers right now.  Ah hell, it
doesn't matter," he told me as he moved up to the edge of the bed.  "Come
on over here and undo my bottoms.  Then get my dick in your mouth just like
you had it before."

   Nervously I complied wondering what my friend was up to and just what he
had behind his back.  It didn't take long to find out.  I was in mid-stroke
when his left hand whipped around from behind his back to reveal _ a hand
mirror.  He had brought an oval hand mirror out of the bathroom.

   "OK Web, stop right there and take a look at yourself in the mirror.  I
wanted you to see just how sexy you look when you're sucking cock.  Told
you it was better than anything in Playboy."

   I shifted my eyes to look at the mirror (if I moved my head I would have
lost contact with his dick) and what I saw made my cock add another inch of
diameter to the wet circle my dripping precum was causing on the cover
below.

   Bathed in the gentle glow of the television was the freshly scrubbed
face of a young male teenager with short brown hair and a stubby button
nose.  A few freckles dotted his cheeks, cheeks which had been rounded
inward by the force of his sucking until they resembled the inside surface
of a pink rubber ball cut open.

   The mirror revealed a gaping mouth which spoke of unrestrained passions
and wantonness, the juvenile lips thrust tautly forward along a pillar of
stiff smooth flesh, a small line of wetness escaping from the tiny pocket
in the mouth's corner where the connection between the two bodies failed.
There could be no question this was a mouth made to give pleasure to other
males, to slobber over countless men, vacuuming their throbbing poles deep
into its connecting throat, with a tongue intend to roll their manly
essences around the mouth like a fine brandy.

   Above all the mirror exposed the visage of an individual whose eyes
expressed a sense of contentment and fulfillment as he nursed on the prick
in his mouth, someone unburdened by the knowledge he liked to suck cocks,
unafraid to give full range to his desires.

   To this day I wish I had a copy of the reflection of the young man I saw
in that mirror.

   Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the mirror vanished, set on floor
by the side of the sofa bed.  My friend's strong hands pushed me flat on my
back, temporarily breaking our carnal connection.  As I rose to give him
room to lay down he pushed me flat on my back again, this time positioning
himself over my prostrate body with his knees locked tightly around my rib
cage.

   As he propped my head up with a pillow, I gave myself over to his
desires and mine.  Who was I to deny what the looking glass had finally
made plain.  He moved his way forward until his ass was firm against my
chest, his prick was pounding against my lips like a medieval battering
ram. I surrendered, opening wide while my tongue played the role of the
lowered drawbridge, allowing him unhindered passage into my oral courtyard.

   He took full advantage of my capitulation, thrusting forward until he
reached the back of my throat and then back until just the tip sat on the
edge of my front teeth, sawing in and out while my lips quivered along the
sides of his dick and his ballsack scraped up and down on my chest.  In
this new and unfamiliar position the salvia began to pool in the back of my
throat threatening to choke me when the level rose too high.  My need to
swallow to avoid gagging just added another new thrill for my friend as my
lips, mouth and sometimes even my throat would contract around his dick,
squeezing it tight in a hot, moist, fleshy vice.

   The end came quickly for both of us, the events of the day and the
earlier release we had been denied had aroused us to new heights of
excitement, added urgency to our movements, fervor to our coupling.  My
friend's legs began to shake against my ribs, a sure sign he was growing
close to orgasm and I increased the intensity of my sucking.

   We had not spoken since he pushed me to the bed, words seemed
unnecessary to the task at hand.  But, as his climax neared, my friend
managed to gasp out one question between breaths: "You know what to do?"

   I answered him first with my eyes, "Yes, I know what to do," and then
with my actions.  With a heavy grunt my friend bent over, his hands coming
to rest on the top of the sofa, his dick sliding backwards to the outer
edge of my mouth.  Once, twice, three times he spurted his hot cream across
the waiting surface of my tongue, thoroughly coating it with a white
effusion of sperm before he withdrew.

   Sitting up slowly, I stuck my semi-curled tongue out at him like a
little child mad at the world.  But the real reason was to prove to him his
offering had been accepted.  I watched him watch me, his eyes going first
at the puddle of come on top of my tongue and then to my throat as its
muscles convulsed when I swallowed.

   "Thank you," I told my friend and then asked "When you're ready to go
again, can I have some more?"

   My hand is shaking as I knock on the Grambs' door.  At least twice
during the walk down the hall I start to turn back only to stop as my
friend reminds me of what is at stake.  I really don't need reminding, the
shock of being found my knees over in a corner of the basement storeroom
with my mouth full of my friend's cock, a thin string of saliva dribbling
from the corners of my mouth to dampen my shirt is something I didn't think
I'll ever forget.  I don't know what I'd do if Mr.  Grambs had carried
through on his threat to tell my friend's grandmother what he had found.

   Although brief, the walk down the hall from my friend's grandmother's
apartment to the Grambs' at the back of the building still gives me time to
try and answer the question buzzing around my head.

   I've come a long way since the first furtive handjob I had given my
friend in his barn.  Now I know I am a cocksucker, know that I like the
feel of a male rod brushing back and forth against my lips, its oozing
juices and my salvia combining to lubricate its passage.  I've been trained
to crave the salty, coppery taste of a wad of come splattering on the back
of my tongue, to enjoy the pleasure of rolling it around in my mouth before
swallowing, to savor its syrupy passage down my throat, its aftertaste
lingering for long minutes reminding me of my subservience, my acquiescence
to the desires of another.

   But that is the question.  Do I really want to be a cocksucker?  Sure
I've sucked off my friend off plenty of times.  But that was just playing
around wasn't it?  And yeah, I've sucked the man we were now going to see,
a visit aimed at my servicing him again.  But I really didn't have a choice
did I?  I was blackmailed (or black-maled) into that first blowjob, even if
I had enjoyed it.

   That is part of the problem, I do enjoy it.  It's fun, it's fulfilling
(in more ways than one) and I look forward to it.  But, ever since that
first handjob, there are times, especially after the passion of the moment
has passed, that I have doubts about what I'm doing.  And there are times
when I wonder if these events should be more mutual, if my cock should
reside in another's mouth, my sperm coat another's molars.  Or is the
pleasure I feel while spit-polishing someone else's knob reward enough? 
Like the last person picked for a game of ball, am I always going to be the
catcher and never get a chance to be the pitcher?  Abruptly, as we reach
the Grambs' apartment, my self-examination comes to an end.

   Moments after my first tentative knock on the door, it swings open to
reveal Mr.  Grambs' standing there wrapped only in a yellow cotton towel.
"You're early.  Well, don't just stand there and stare Web," he says
opening the door wider.  "You and your friend get in here before the flies
do, and shuts the door behind you.  No sense in giving any nosey neighbors
a free look.  Make sure the lock catches."

   Moving into the living room Mr.  Grambs drops his towel.  "OK Webster,
now you can look to your heart's content.  But hurry up, I was going to
shower before you two got here and I still want to clean up before we gets
started."

   Hungrily, I run my eyes up and down his body, my momentary qualms from
the hallway overcome, as they always are, by my growing desire.

   Down in the basement I had seen very little of Mr.  Grambs, only those
portions I had revealed when I lowered his pants: his thighs, his knees,
the front of his calves and, of course, his ebony manhood.  Now, standing
before me like a sculpture, nothing was concealed from my view.

   Mr.  Grambs makes his living in construction, pushing wheelbarrows to
and fro on the jobsites, hauling timbers, wielding a shovel or pick.  His
mature body is well-muscled,firm but not overly so.  There is still a
little roundness to his stomach, a bit of softness along his ribcage.

   His chest is covered with a mat of kinky black hair, thick enough on his
pecs that his nipples are almost hidden.  The hair takes the shape of an
hourglass, broader on his chest, narrowing as it works its way down his
stomach and then widening again when it reaches his groin.  His navel is an
outie and large.  It looks like a dark chocolate bon-bon nestled in a
wrinkled paper wrapper, just waiting to be nibbled by some naughty boy. 
The hair on his legs stops just below his crotch, leaving a smooth, surface
which ran down to his feet where the hair resumes.

   It is the body of a man who works hard for his keep, not the overly
honed torso of a narcissistic body builder who pumps iron to create an
overly-sculptured piece of beefcake that graced some of the magazines I had
furtively perused in the bookstores.

   I knew from the day before how firm and solid his ass was.  My fingers
had almost cramped while I was kneading it as I sucked.  But what surprises
me now is his dick.  The day before, even under my best ministrations, it
had been well, not soft or limp exactly but doughy and somewhat malleable.
It was its flexibility which had allowed me to take its entire length down
my throat and nestle my nose in his public hairs.  One glance tells me that
isn't going to happen today.

   Mr.  Grambs' cock is jutting out like a steel pier reaching for the
ocean at Atlantic City.  Yesterday it had pointed toward the floor.  Today
it rises toward the heavens, its lighter cafe au lait mushroom head capping
the heavily veined nut brown column like the masthead on the prow of a
boat.

   Without thinking I move across the room and grasp his dick, its heat
coursing through my fingers.  Even as I sink to the floor, my mouth agape,
my hand tries without success to bend his rod.

   Before my knees can hit the floor, strong thick hands insinuate
themselves under my arms and raise me back to a standing position.

   "Don't be in such a hurry Webster," says Mr.  Grambs.  "We ain't down in
the basement today.  We're going to take our time and maybe even teach you
a couple of more good things.  Now you just make youself at home while I go
shower.  Then we'll get started." I nod my agreement, my eyes still fixed
on his rigid dick.

   Noticing where my eyes were focused, Mr.  Grambs lets out a little
laugh. "Surprised at my johnson today?  How hard it is?" Again I nod, my
mouth too dry to speak without croaking.

   "Hell Web, when I went down in the basement and found you blowing
_______.  I'd already jacked off four times.  With my wife out of town at
her sister's and my girlfriend working double shifts at the restaurant this
weekend I figured the only fun I was going to have was what I gave myself
or what I bought on the street.  Course, that was before I made your
acquaintance.  Things sure did change after that.

   "Now I'm going to go shower.  You both showered just before you came
over right?" This time both of us nod.  "Good, cleanliness is next to
godliness and there ain't much worse than having sex with someone that
stinks.  That's another thing you should know Web, never have sex with
someone who's dirty and always be clean your own self."

   Looking straight at the my friend Mr.  Grambs asks "Now you boys are
going to behave yourselves while I'm in the shower right?  I'm not gonna
come out and find a repeat of the basement am I?"

   "No sir, Mr.  Grambs," replies my friend talking for the first time that
day.

   "Good.  Then you boys relax and I'll get ready.  You're both going to
learn some lessons today and we're gonna have some fun doing it."

   The door to the bathroom has barely closed and the water is just
starting to run when my friend punches my arm.  "Damn, Web you are a slut,"
he tells me his voice crinkling with excitement.  "I thought Old Man Grambs
was kidding when he told me how you jumped right on his cock.  Christ on a
crutch, I guess he wasn't.  That towel hadn't even all hit the floor before
you went running over to him and grabbed his stiffie.  I thought you were
going to swallow him right then and there."

   I don't know what to say so I turn away.  My friend is right, I am a
slut and, all my misgivings aside, the minute I had laid eyes on Mr. 
Grambs cock all I could think about was coaxing his manjuice up from his
wrinkly balls, across his throbbing cock and down into my waiting mouth.

   To distract myself, I start to look around the apartment.  Mr.  Grambs'
place is at the opposite end of the hallway from my friend's grandmother's.
Her apartment faces the front street and a small city park across the road.
Mr.  Grambs' overlooks an alley full of trashcans and a windowless brick
wall on the other side of the alley.

   Walking into my friend's grandmother's apartment means entering a
spotless world where time passes slower than outside.  Much of the
furniture is antique, family heirlooms at least two and sometimes three
generations old.  The walls are adorned with landscapes, still-lifes and,
in one case, a painting of a wide-eyed young girl holding a bouquet of
black-eyed susans.  The tables hold the latest local papers and copies of
Life and Look magazines.  There are always cut flowers in several vases
scattered throughout the apartment and everything is overlaid with the
scent of the violets she grows in the front room and talcum powder, a sweet
not unfamiliar atmosphere.

   It's different in the Grambs' apartment.  It's clean, just as clean as
my friend's grandmother's apartment but the similarities end there.  The
worn furniture is second and even third-hand, not antique, a mixture of
styles including an overstuffed couch upholstered in a garish red and
yellow check.  The walls hold a series of what I take to be family
portraits as well as a picture of John Kennedy cut out a magazine and stuck
into a ready-made frame.  A depiction of Jesus graces the opposing wall
while copies of Jet and Ebony magazine are stacked neatly on one corner of
the coffee table next to a crumpled copy of the local African-American
newspaper.  In place of violets and talcum powder, the more earthy scent of
greens and southern-fired chicken tantalize the nose.  This is an apartment
that is lived in, not just occupied.

   Preoccupied by my inspection of the apartment, I jump like a gigged frog
when Mr.  Grambs' damp palm caresses the side of my face.  "Hey Web, settle
down there boy.  No need to be so jumpy," he says as he walks around to the
front of the couch.

   Once again I find myself falling under a spell, his moist skin still
coated in places by a glistening combination of oil and water, reflecting
the apartment's light as though a handful of diamonds had been crushed and
sprinkled over his skin.  I want to fall off the couch and kneel before
him, worship his manhood, take as my communion his very essence.  It's only
by the strictest self-discipline that I remain on the couch quivering, a
sporting dog at heel poised to spring at the master's command.

   Mr.  Grambs looks at me and smiles at what he sees, my eagerness
matching his intentions like adjoining pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  Out of
the corner of my eyes I look at my friend.  He too is sitting straight up
on the couch his breathing deep and faster than normal.

   Suddenly Mr.  Grambs' face grows serious.  He orders me to disrobe.  I
comply.  When I am naked he asks my friend to get up from the couch and
move toward the center of the room.

   "Web, I want you to undress _____, nothing else understand?  Just
undress him," he commands.  Again I comply.  My friend is tense as I remove
his clothes in front of Mr.  Grambs.  I understand.  Until now our sex play
has been a private affair carried out in secret away from prying eyes.  No
more.  All that would happen today would be seen and shared and a secret
shared is no longer a secret.

   Kneeling I untie his tennis shoes.  He offers no help, standing stock
still as though he were frozen, forcing me to lift each rigid leg like a
blacksmith shoeing a horse.  I rise to unbutton his shirt, my fingers
rubbing lightly against his ribs as I extract his arms from the sleeves. 
"Hey, that tickles," he says a half-smile on his face, his reserve
beginning to fade.

   His blue jeans are the next to go, his rising erection pressing against
the denim fabric, making it harder for me to unbuckle the snap.  As it
appears I rub the side of my face against the white fabric marking the
final barrier to my friend's full nudity.  I can feel wetness dampening my
cheek as it glides over the covered cockhead, wetness filling my mouth as I
anticipate what (and who) is to come.

   My friend steps out his jeans, leaving them bunched on the floor.  I
push them aside to take my position at his feet, my hands reaching upwards
as if in supplication.  I grasp the elastic around his hips and, with a
helpful wriggle from my friend, I pull his briefs down to rest around his
heels, a drop or two of precome splashing on my face as his prick bounces
to a stop.  Obeying instructions I stand and move back.

   Now Mr.  Grambs moves to stand at an angle next to my friend, hips
touching.  My friend gives a slight flinch at the contact but holds his
place.  The older man's hand motions me over, indicating I should again
assume the acquiescent posture of a cocksucker, this time between the two
of them.

   I almost go cross-eyes looking at the two dicks before me.  One white,
uncut, and more square than round, a carpenter's pencil of a prick; the
other brown, cut and round with heavy veins running along its length like
the stripes on a barber's pole.  I wonder which dick will be the first to
fit into my mouth, spill its pearly seed across my tongue?  Who will watch
my throat convulse as I swallow their sperm, be the first to receive my
thanks?

   Mr.  Grambs takes my head in one hand, tilting my face upwards, our eyes
locking together.  "OK Web, I wants you to open wide because you're gonna
take both these cocks into your mouth at the same time."

   Darting down to look at the two hard-ons and then back up to Mr. 
Grambs, my eyes show my disbelief.  A small frown like an approaching
summer squall passes over Mr.  Grambs face.  "Didn't you hear me boy," he
asks gruffly.  "We both want to be sucked and we're not waiting.  Now get
to it."

   I maneuver closer to the two bodies, my mouth yawning open as though I'm
awakening from a sleep of a thousand years.  My hand reaches out and
gathers the two dicks pressing them together like straphangers in a rush
hour subway, their angle bringing both heads to the same starting point.

   As I move my head forward my mouth stretches to allow entry.  I struggle
but manage to get about two maybe two and a half inches of both cocks in my
mouth, my tongue trapped underneath a twin popsicle of warm human flesh The
awkward angle prevents me from getting more in my mouth.  I start to move
back and forth my bottom teeth scraping with each stroke, wondering what it
must feel like for the two I am servicing; the foreskin of the uncut cock
rubbing against its mate.

   My mouth fills, partly with precum but mostly with saliva.  I can't
swallow and I am forbidden to spit so I begin to choke.  After my first
spasm, the cocks exit my mouth.

   "All right Web, that wasn't bad for the first time," Mr.  Grambs tells
me.  Hearing his words I feel like a puppy that has been told "Good Boy" by
his master.  "You'll get better with practice."

   "Yeah, and I'll be sure to give him plenty of chances to improve," my
friend chimes in, becoming more comfortable with the situation as time
passes, his fingers ruffling through my hair.

   We move over to the couch, Mr.  Grambs sitting on one end, my friend on
the other.  I start to move downwards when Mr.  Grambs again stops me.  "
Come on around to the side of the couch Web, I want to teach you another
trick." He turns so his chest is parallel to the arm of the couch.  "I want
you to suck my nipples." I stop, surprised at his command.  Aside from
hanging on to an ass for balance, all my efforts have been spent licking
and sucking cocks with the occasional foray to massage a low-hanging ball
sack.  The idea of playing with someone's nipples is new to me.

   "That's it Webster.  Cup your hands and put them just underneath my
nipples.  Now lift up.  That's right boy.  Now bring yo lips over to it."

   My hands cradling his chest I place my puckered lips over the nipple
closest to my mouth.  His kinky hair brushes against my lips and nose as I
begin to suck like a baby at his mother's breast.  His nipple has a salty
taste to it.

   "That's good Web.  Now use your tongue.  Wipe it back and forth.  ... 
Yeah be nice.  Faster now, get a quick rhythm going.  Now can you feel it
hardening?  " I nod not wanting to remove my mouth to speak.  "OK now start
to nibble on it.  Gently boy, you ain't chewing gum here."

   I ease up on the pressure, softening the impact of my incisors on his
nipple.  Mr.  Grambs lets out a quiet moan.  As I switch to his other
nipple I see my friend slowly jacking off as he watches us.  After a couple
more minutes of my switching between his nipples, Mr.  Grambs draws away
from me to lean against the back of the couch.

   "________ been real patient over there," Mr.  Grambs tells me.  "He's
played with himself long enough.  I wanna watch you suck that cock of his.
Go to it Web."

   I move quickly around to the front of the couch.  My friend scoots
forward until his ass is barely on the edge of the couch, his balls hanging
freely in the air.  This time I don't kneel.  Instead I squat until my
calves and thighs are pressed tightly together, like a catcher waiting for
the first pitch.  My hands rest on his upper thighs, forcing them farther
apart the better to maintain my balance.

   My tongue sweeps lightly over his balls, causing the skin of his scrotum
to tighten and wrinkle.  One after the other I take the small-egg sized
balls deep in my mouth, my tongue continue to lave each testicle. 
Finishing with his balls, I extend my tongue as far as it will go and
slowly slide upwards along the vein on the underside of his dick.

   When I reach the head my tongue insinuates its way underneath his
foreskin, slowly circumnavigating his cock.  When the circle is completed I
press my lips tightly against the tip of his dick and, leaning forward,
peel his foreskin back until the entire head is uncovered.  My right hand
reaches out to hold the foreskin back while the point of my tongue begins
an exploration of the slit, burrowing its way into the interior of his
cock.

   After a few more seconds of teasing, I begin to suck his cock in
earnest, my mouth and hand moving in a synchronized harmony designed to
provide maximum pleasure for my friend.  My cheeks go from concave to
convex and back again as I vacuum his prick into my oral cavity, sliding it
deeper into my mouth with every thrust.

   Knowing Mr.  Grambs is watching excites me.  I remove my left hand from
my friend's thigh and begin to massage his balls, urging them to spill
their cache of come.  My balance is precarious now, a wrong move could send
me plunging down on his rod with disastrous consequences for both of us. 
When my lips reach the tip of his dick I throw myself forward, pushing my
legs out from under me at the same time.  With only a small jolt I am on my
knees ready to finish of my friend.

   My right hand leaves his cock and rests against the coach.  My lips take
its place, traveling south toward his public hair.  I open my mouth wider,
forcing air down my throat and enlarging it in the process.  The head of
his pecker is now on the back of my tongue.  It uses my uvula as a punching
bag.

   Slowly I move forward adjusting the angle of my head to allow his dick
free passage into my throat.  When my nose rests in his hair I stop.  I
have fully engulfed my friend his balls now bounce against my chin. 
Breathing through my nose, I begin to swallow, the contraction of the
muscles of my throat milking his cock.  My left hand rubs his balls harder,
my tongue brushes across the bottom of his cock.

   My friend's breathing quickens, his legs begin to tremble.  I redouble
my efforts.  His balls begin to pulse in my hand.  Then I feel it, his
sperm climbing upward to my waiting gullet.  The first stream of come
shoots while his cock is lodged in my throat.  I can feel it slide down my
esophagus.  I pull back to gain a taste of his cream, the next jet
splashing against the roof of my mouth.  Satisfied, I pull quickly off his
dick, my hand regaining its grip on his cock, targeting his next emission
at my outstuck tongue.

   At first my aim is off, his cum splashes against my nose and upper lips.
A small movement of my hand corrects this flaw and his final, slowing
spurts land directly on my elongated tongue.  When I am sure his orgasm is
finished I milk his cock and then stand slowly up, exhibiting my
slime-coated tongue first to my friend and then to Mr.  Grambs.

   Seeing approval on their faces, I swallow.  It takes two attempts to
move all his sperm into my stomach.  My tongue quests outward and upwards,
gathering as much of the sperm gracing my face as it can.  It is aided by
the index finger of my right hand which scrapes the remainder toward my
mouth.  Again I swallow and finish up by sucking the final remnants off my
finger.  Despite my best efforts I know my face is shiny with smeared come
then this is only proper for a cocksucker.  This come hasn't been wasted,
it is a visual representation of my status.  It cries out "Look at me.  I
am a cocksucker.  I can be your cocksucker.  Let me pleasure you."

   Quietly with my head semi-bowed but my eyes on his face I thank my
friend for sharing his essence with me.  Having observed the proper
dicklicker etiquette I turn to Mr.  Grambs.  His ebony tower is reaching
toward the sky as he says "Ok Webster let's see what tricks you can do with
a man's rod." <2nd attachment end>

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