FAMILIA AFFAIR
ErotiSex Novel by
Rod Palmer
GLB PUBLISHERS ® San Francisco
Second Edition
Copyright © 2003 by Rod Palmer
All rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.
Published in the United States by GLB Publishers
P.O. Box 78212, San Francisco, CA 94107 USA
Cover by GLB Publishers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 1-879194-42-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2003093806
Published 2003
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Familia Affair:
The characters in this book are fictional,
and from a different time.
The unsafe sex they practice cannot harm them;
it can kill you. — Rod Palmer
Publisher's Note: This book first appeared
under another name many years ago
and has been rescued from the dusty bins of time.
We may be able to find more of
Rod Palmer's fantasies if you like them.
C H A P T E R 1
Rick worked overtime at his job as a copy-runner for the New York Times. It was a dull job that required him to wear tennis shoes because he was always literally running from the staff rooms to the editors' desks with the latest copy hot out of the typewriters. His hopes were to someday work his way up to editor, but the road seemed long and winding.
It was nearly six by the time Rick got off work, and as he walked out of the Times building, he was immediately hit by the muggy weather. The air-conditioned artificial environment of his working area kept him well sheltered from reality, and although he handled all the daily news items, he never read them. It was like being in an alien world.
Born and raised in the suburbs, Rick had moved into the city for several reasons. The highest-paying jobs were there, and all his friends lived and worked either downtown or in the Village. So he had packed up and found a small apartment right in the middle of all the fun and games.
He visited his folks out in Westchester only rarely. They loved him, as all parents do, and hoped that he would "grow out" of what they considered was his "gay phase." Rick, in turn, wished that his parents would grow out of their hangups.
Rick frequented a gay bar named Dominick's. The atmosphere was friendly and relaxed and, on this particular night with the weather the way it was, he told himself he could use a cold beer. He walked down Fifth Avenue past all the expensive stores. It was not the most direct route to Dominick's, but it gave him a chance to see how the other half lived—the half with money.
Dominick's was unusually crowded even for happy hour, but Rick located a seat near the back of the bar and gave his order to Sammy, the bartender.
"What's new, Sammy?" he asked, not being able to come up with a more original line at the moment.
"Clark Kent is asking a mere bartender what's new?" Sammy said, in his usual campy tone. "I'm humbled. But you should ask Marco, Champion of Gay Causes. He maybe can tell you: I never get out from behind this bar." And with that, Sammy moved on to another customer.
Rick took his beer and concentrated on quenching his thirst. He looked at one of the flyers that had been left on the bar. The usual stuff—more police harassment, inequality, discrimination…so what else was new?
A tall, dark young man was moving around the bar with a stack of flyers, trying to spark interest in an upcoming protest rally, with lukewarm success. Rick vaguely recognized him as Marco, Sammy's Champion of Gay Causes. And he suddenly thought back to the time he had first seen Marco, at a local bath.
Rick had been in the shower when Marco entered, and Rick had never forgotten his first look at Marco. The guy was an Italian god, and without his clothes he was even more spectacular. He could have been a body double for Michelangelo's David, except for the hair on his chest—and the fact that he had a small tattoo over each perfect nipple. Over the right nipple was the word "Sweet," and over the left, the word "Sour." Rick had gotten an immediate erection—a fact not lost on Marco, who was obviously used to such a reaction, but Marco smiled, winked, and flexed his incredible biceps. Rick melted, but he was also tongue-tied and, just before he got up the courage to speak, another good-looking dude came in, distracted Marco by reaching directly for Marco's cock and, cock firmly in hand, jerked his head to indicate Marco should follow him. He did.
As he was leaving the baths later, he saw Marco again: Marco looked at him, smiled and winked, but Rick had the definite impression that Marco didn't even remember he'd done exactly the same thing an hour or so before. Prick-teaser!
Marco had been Rick's number-one jack-off fantasy ever since. Now, as he watched, Marco came directly over to him.
"How about you, buddy?" Marco asked, obviously not recognizing Rick. But, after all, why should he?
"You're coming to the rally Saturday, aren't you?" Marco's smile was devastating.
"Why should I?" Rick asked, feeling immediately stupid.
"We're going to show the cops of this town they can't push us around," Marco said, suddenly not sounding too convincing.
"I thought that's what Stonewall was for," Rick remarked, referring to last year's riot outside a Village bar.
"Well, yeah," Marco said, "but that was just the beginning. We've got to keep pushing." He was staring intently at Rick, and looking increasingly puzzled. "Haven't I seen…?"
"The baths," Rick said. "A month ago Tuesday." He could have bitten his tongue.
"Hey, yeah!" Marco said, a look of recognition lighting his handsome face. "You were the cute shy number in the shower. Pity someone else got there first."
"You always this modest?" Rick asked.
Marco broke into that devastating grin again. "Yeah, I guess so. What's your name, Sport?"
"Rick."
"Well, Rick, why don't you plan to shag your hot little ass over to the rally Saturday? And if you get lonesome in the meantime, maybe you can stop by my place and we can…ah…talk. I've only got enough of these flyers for one more bar, then I should be heading home. Should be there in about half an hour, if you're interested. I live at the Jade House Apartments on Tenth Avenue. You know it?"
Rick nodded.
"Number 8B," Marco added with a sexy smile, then turned and continued through the bar with his flyers.
At exactly 8:15, Rick was knocking at the door of Apartment 8B at the Jade House Apartments. He hoped Marco's offer hadn't just been just another gigantic prick tease, as it had been at the bath, but if it wasn't, he also hoped Marco wouldn't want too much conversation. Rick was not there to discuss the fine points of gay lib—he was there to get laid, and he had a semi-hard-on to prove it.
The door opened to reveal an awesome Marco, wearing nothing but a pair of Jockey shorts and a smile.
"Hi, stud," he grinned. "Come on in. Take your clothes off and stick around for a while." He gave Rick an appreciative once-over. " Hotter'n hell tonight," Marco said, and Rick wasn't sure whether Marco was talking about the weather, or about him, or about the reason he was wearing only briefs.
As he stepped into the apartment, Rick was impressed by how lavishly it was furnished. He had no idea what Marco did for a living, but knew it must be something pretty important to be able to afford the furniture, paintings, and other artwork that filled the place.
His questions about Marco's work soon took a back seat as Marco led him into the bedroom and repeated the invitation to take his clothes off. Rick was distracted momentarily as he hastily shed his clothes, and when he looked up he saw that Marco had taken off his clothes—that is, his Jockey shorts—and was lying back on the waterbed with an erection that reminded Rick of the Washington Monument.
Rick had had a hard time getting out of his pants; his cock had been down his left pant leg when he first saw Marco at the door, and his hardon was now almost painfully confined. Finally naked, Rick moved to the side of the undulating bed. Marco sat up and reached for him, grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him down onto the bed. It was a circular bed, with no linens and a transparent mattress. Lights shone up through the water from under the mattress, giving the entire room an eerie and exciting effect. A little garish, Rick thought, but effective. And you sure as hell didn't buy beds like this at a discount store.
Marco rolled Rick onto his back and covered his body with his own. Their rock-hard cocks pressed together like two fallen tree trunks. Rick saw Marco's face moving toward his, and he closed his eyes as he felt Marco's mouth on his, and then Marco's tongue pushing its way firmly but gently into his mouth. With a small whimper, Rick started sucking it like a baby with a pacifier.
Rick was aware only of the soft slosh of the water bed and Marco's and his own heavy breathing.
Marco began a slow, fucking rhythm, grinding his rock-hard cock against Rick's while at the same time thrusting his tongue slowly and deeply into Rick's mouth. Rick wished Marco would put his cock where it would do the most good, but realized it was just a matter of time, and stopped sucking Marco's tongue in order to thrust his own tongue into Marco's mouth. Moaning, Marco sucked it as Rick had sucked his.
For Rick, it was the fantasy of fantasies, and the fact that it was really happening was almost more than he could bear. When he felt like he would explode prematurely if they kept up the tongue-thrusting/sucking exchange, Rick broke the kiss. Both their faces were wet with saliva. Rapidly he rolled Marco over until he, himself, was on top. Mouth open wide, he started a trail of wet, sucking kisses across Marco's chin, down his neck, across his muscular chest, down his stomach—pausing a moment to thrust his tongue into Marco's navel, then down to the thick underbrush surrounding the hot, throbbing pole that was Marco's prick.
Clamping his mouth around the side of the shaft at the base, Rick began a slow, sensuous tongue-climbing of that mighty shaft, bathing every inch of the shaft in warm wetness, until he reached the full, velvet-smooth head. Marco was uncut, but the skin had pulled back so smoothly it was nearly impossible to tell. Rick opened his mouth to suck the huge head into his mouth.
Marco was, by this time, literally writhing his hips in pleasure as Rick's hot, wet mouth moved over the plum-sized head and began taking more and more of the shaft; his fists were clenched, his arms and legs rigid. Rick began slowly, then increased the speed and depth of his thrusts. Soon, saliva was running down the long shaft and Marco was gasping and thrusting his hips up, forcing even more of the glistening prick into Rick's eager mouth. Rick could hear the sound of his own moaning as he sucked.
Marco's groans became louder, his threshing wilder. The waterbed was rocking like there was a storm at sea. Finally, the feeling was too much for Marco to hold back any longer. With a yell that Rick was sure could be heard for blocks, Marco emptied his balls into Rick's waiting mouth. Blast after blast of thick cream filled Rick's mouth and some forced its way past his tightly encircling lips to run down the huge shaft and onto Marco's surging balls.
Rick's hand, which had been stroking his own hard cock, now moved faster and faster and, just as he swallowed the last spurt of Marco's man juice, Rick's own cock erupted in a series of violent spasms, shooting thick streams of white cum over Marco's leg and up onto his chest.
After a moment, he hoisted himself up to lie in Marco's arms. They rested, silent and exhausted, and Rick drifted off to sleep. He awoke to find Marco looking at him. Marco was propped up on one arm, smoking a cigarette. He smiled as his eyes roamed over Rick's body.
"Again?" Marco asked, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray beside him.
"Sure," Rick answered with a grin. "Again and again."
Marco reached out and took Rick's cock in his hand, kneading it to stiff erection as they kissed. They took turns sucking each other off—slowly, sensuously. When they were both totally drained, Marco lit another cigarette.
"I haven't had this much fun since I was a hustler in my teens," he said, carefully blowing smoke directly into Rick's face, just to watch him squirm.
"Yeah," Rick said with a grin, "I kind of enjoyed it, too."
"Look," Marco said, "why don't we just stay here in bed until Saturday and ball, then we can go down to the Park for the rally together?"
Rick laughed. After all this wild sex, Marco was still trying to peddle the gay movement to him.
"Okay, you win," he said, tousling Marco's already curly hair. "I'll be there Saturday with bells on. But in the meantime, us poor workin' folk got to make a living. So while I could suck your cock from now 'til doomsday, practicality rears its ugly head."
"Fuck practicality," Marco growled, grabbing him around the waist. "Let it rear its ugly head later. There's another head I'm more interested in at the moment."
"Well, my jaw's a little tired," Rick said. "That's one massive mouthful you've got down there," he added, reaching down to find Marco's rod at full staff.
"I wasn't thinking about mouths this time," Marco said, raising up to push Rick back onto the pillows. He moved between Rick's legs, and Rick automatically raised them and positioned his ankles on Marco's broad shoulders.
Marco leaned forward, reaching past Rick to open the drawer of the bedside night stand. He took out a large jar of Albolene, opened it, and scooped a large dollop, which he then spread over the head and shaft of his throbber, then took a smaller amount on his middle finger and inserted it gently into Rick's waiting ass, first teasing the entrance to the hole with circular motions. Rick gasped as the cool wetness of Marco's large finger entered his chamber.
"Take it easy at first, okay?" Rick asked. "I haven't had a rod like yours in there in a hell of a long time."
"Just let the pro do his job," Marco said.
Putting the lube back on the night stand, he repositioned himself then leaned forward to clamp his mouth over Rick's. As his tongue entered Rick's mouth, he moved forward with his hips. Rick felt the monster head pushing against the entrance; felt the stretching and then the quick pain as the head forced its way in. He groaned and sucked wildly on Marco's tongue as Marco moved his hips forward steadily. Soon the entire incredible length of his cock was buried in Rick's ass, and Rick felt Marco's massive balls against his asscheeks.
"Jeeeezus!" Rick said as Marco broke the kiss to look down at him with a sexy smile.
"You ready for it?" Marco asked.
"Oh, yeah!" Rick replied, pulling Marco's lips back down to his own.
Marco slowly withdrew his long shaft until just the head was caught within the entrance to Rick's hot hole. He kept it there for a long moment until Rick broke the kiss again long enough to say: "Give it to me, baby!"
And the ride began.
It was, Rick decided as they lay exhausted, drenched in sweat and slathered in cum but too tired to move, undoubtedly one of the best—if not the best—fucks he had ever had. Marco insisted on always being the aggressor, but that was fine with Rick. With a face and a body and a dick like Marco's, Marco could do anything he wanted, any time he wanted, and Rick would gladly go along.
Finally, Rick found the strength to say: "So how did you ever get so wrapped up in this gay lib thing?"
Marco shrugged as he put out another cigarette. "I've been in it a long time now. Way before Stonewall—ever since I got busted for hustling when I was 17. I'd noticed even before that that the cops would ignore the whores and bust the hustlers. I figured ‘fuck you, Charlie—there's got to be something we can do to protect ourselves.'"
Rick nodded. "I agree, but taking on the cops is a full-time job, and there isn't much money in it as a career."
"Well," Marco replied, "money isn't really all that much of a problem for me. I've got a rich old man. He's not wild about my being gay, but he pays the bills. I don't know…gay lib just means a lot to me. It sort of gives me a purpose other than just being a rich man's kid."
Rick was quiet a moment. "Well, it's always good to have something to believe in and work for. I wish I could get that enthused myself. But by the time I drag myself out of the Times building, I've had it. If I'm lucky, I have just enough energy to lift a beer."
"We'll take care of that," Marco said, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.
"Whatever you say," Rick said, amazed to realize they were both hard again.
The next day, Friday, Rick went to work as usual. He was there in body, but not in spirit. And if he wasn't kept so busy running from desk to desk, he was sure he'd fall asleep.
He went directly home from work, and promptly fell asleep within five minutes after walking in the door. He was awakened abruptly, several hours later, by the phone. He managed to find it, after considerable effort, and lifted the receiver.
"Hmmm?" he mumbled. The voice on the other end was far more chipper than his own.
"Hi, babe, it's Marco. We're having an impromptu pre-rally party. Come on over."
Not really realizing what he was doing, Rick agreed, then cursed himself immediately for doing so. But another chance to see Marco? He groggily got out of bed, staggered into the bathroom, washed, dressed, and went out the door. By the time he hit the IRT, he was pretty much awake.
He'd rather assumed that there would just be a couple of people there, sitting around talking about politics and strategies, and was a little surprised—and disappointed—by the size of the large crowd. From the activity going on in various parts of the living room, he gathered that a full-scale orgy was in the making. He looked around for Marco and caught a glimpse of him in the center of a large group, leaning on the shoulders of a tall, good-looking blond. Marco saw him at the same time, smiled, and waved, but made no attempt to come over to him. Rick was surprised to find himself more than a little hurt. But what, he asked himself, did he expect? One roll in the hay, fantastic as it may have been, certainly didn't make them lovers.
Rick found his way to the bar, noting that the only thing to drink was apparently a rather deadly-looking punch. It turned out to be mostly rum, and Rick lost no time in helping himself to several bountiful glasses to get into the mood.
As he drained his third cupful, a handsome man of about 40 reached for the ladle at the same time as Rick did. Their eyes met, and Rick knew right away the guy wanted more than a drink.
"Hi," Rick said. "My name's Rick."
The stranger extended his hand, and Rick took it. A nice, strong grasp. And the stranger did not release it. "So's mine," he said, then laughed and finally released the handshake. "Not really—it's Jay. But in a crowd like this, who cares? You one of the Defenders of the Faith?"
Rick smiled and shook his head. "No, just an old trick of the host's."
"Isn't everybody?" Jay laughed. Rick didn't feel well.
"Would you watch my drink?" Rick asked, handing Jay his glass. Without waiting for a reply, he pushed his way through the crowd to the bathroom. Marco was nowhere in sight.
The bathroom door was ajar, and Rick walked in to find Marco leaning with both hands against the wall, his pants around his knees, while the tall blond sat on the toilet sucking Marco's cock deeply into his mouth. Marco was obviously in the short rows, grunting as he hunched his hips forward to drive his fat cock deeply into the blond's mouth. He suddenly thrust his hips violently forward and Rick heard the blond sputter and gag as Marco poured his load directly down the guy's aching throat.
Marco hadn't given any notice that anyone else was observing the scene. Embarrassed, angry and hurt, Rick turned and left the bathroom without a word. He was just about to the front door when he felt an arm on his.
"Here's your drink," Jay said, handing him a refilled glass.
"I don't think I want it," Rick said, wanting only to leave.
"Bullshit," Jay replied. "So you found our host in the bathroom, plugging some little number's ass? Sorry, babe, but that's not really a big deal."
"He wasn't fucking—he was getting blown," Rick said, taking the proffered glass and draining it in three gulps. He noticed that the party was really beginning to warm up, with the guests pairing off and becoming engaged in increasingly heavy action.
Emboldened by the drinks, Rick took Jay by the hand and led him to a vacant sofa. The minute they sat down, Jay pulled his zipper down and Rick stuck his hand inside and grasped Jay's more than ample cock. Nobody either cared or even noticed. Feeling very brave, Rick began to massage the cock, feeling it grow even longer and harder in his hand. Jay stretched his legs out into a wide "V" and urged Rick on. Rick followed his suggestion and freed the dick from Jay's pants. Clenching his fist tighter around the shaft, Rick began a steady pumping. As he increased his strokes, he felt the big organ swell and heat up. Obviously nearing climax, Jay grabbed Rick's shoulders and pulled him to him, hugging him tightly and forcing his tongue into Rick's mouth. Rick continued to manipulate the large stick until Jay's breathing became more ragged and he nodded to indicate that he was coming. Rick felt Jay's balls tighten as the cream moved through his cock, ready to explode from the pressure. Rick cupped his free hand over the head of Jay's dick to capture whatever was on the way.
With a loud moan, Jay drove his tongue into Rick's mouth, jerked his hips, and blasted a tremendous load of hot cream into Rick's hand. He shuddered and jerked with each shot, sucking Rick's tongue as though it were a cock.
Jay dropped his head against the back of the sofa as his cock softened, bending in the middle like a collapsing smokestack. Rick raised his cupped hand, filled with Jay's cum, and lapped at it with his tongue. Then he moved it to Jay's mouth, who parted his lips to accept the rest of his load which flowed out of Rick's tipped palm. He drank his own juice, eagerly, then grabbed Rick's hand as his tongue lapped Rick's palm and fingers to get every drop.
When he released Rick's hand, Jay's own went directly to the throbbing erection still trapped within Rick's own pants. Moving quickly off the sofa, Jay knelt between Rick's legs and unzipped his zipper. Rick raised his ass so that Jay could pull his pants down, fully exposing his long, thick cock. Jay stared at it, fascinated, then grabbed it by the base, tilted it toward himself slightly, moved forward to kiss the head, then extended his tongue to lap at the pre-cum oozing from the wide slit of Rick's dick.
Rick groaned and grabbed the base of his cock with one hand and the back of Jay's head with the other. Raising his hips and pulling Jay's head down at the same time, he felt Jay's hot lips engulf the head and several inches of the shaft. Jay gently removed Rick's hand from the base of his cock, and Rick raised it to cup the other side of Jay's head. He sat back and began moving Jay's head up and down on his cock, nearly delirious with the pleasure. He began grunting as he'd heard Marco grunt in the bathroom, as Jay's mouth and throat worked wonders on his cock. Finally, unable to stand it one second longer, Rick thrust his hips and pulled Jay's head close at the same time until he was buried in Jay's mouth to the hilt, then blasted off, spurting his cum in machine-gun like shots of hot cream.
As his head rocked back and forth in the throes of orgasm, Rick thought he caught a glimpse of Marco near the front door, kissing another Marco. But all that mattered at that moment was pumping out his load.
Jay went totally wild on Rick's cock, moaning, bobbing, sucking, swallowing, licking. Not one drop of Rick's sweet, thick load escaped his voracious mouth. When Jay finally allowed Rick's totally drained, limp dick to slip out of his mouth, Rick closed his eyes and sank back on the sofa.
When he opened his eyes, Jay was gone, as was everyone else…except Marco, who stood looking down at him and smiling.
"Have a good time, buddy?" Marco asked, gently.
Rick was totally embarrassed, but still angry at Marco. He pushed himself up from the sofa and stumbled toward the door, a raging headache making it difficult for him to focus his eyes. Marco grabbed his arm.
"Come on, baby," Marco said. "…you're not going anywhere in that condition. Somebody should have warned you about the punch."
Rick allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, undressed, and laid down on the waterbed, where he immediately fell into a bottomless sleep.
When he awoke some five hours later, he was surprised to find Marco beside him asleep and naked, holding him. He instinctively slid a hand down between his legs, feeling around his asshole for any signs that Marco might have fucked him while he was asleep. There were none, and he relaxed.
Marco awoke a few minutes later. They got up, dressed, talked briefly about the rally, and generally acted as though the night before simply had not happened. Marco did, that is, but Rick knew in his still-aching head and in the pit of his stomach that another of his illusions was gone.
When they got off the subway, Marco headed directly for the rally point.
"Can we grab a sandwich first?" Rick asked.
"We can catch one later," Marco replied.
The park seemed calm, with the usual contingent of couples, families, tourists, and park people. Marco was particularly alert for the police.
"I hope we don't get any static from the goddamned longshoremen today," Marco said. "At our last rally, a group of them tried to bust it up. They had baseball bats and chains and we had nothing. Ten of our people went to the hospital, and the police didn't do a damned thing to stop it. It seems there's nothing like beating the shit out of a fag to reinforce a ‘real man's' self image."
There were maybe 500 people gathered at the rally point with more arriving every minute, and while Marco was meeting with a number of other rally organizers, Rick walked over to a hot dog cart to get something to eat. He'd offered to get Marco something, but Marco had said he wasn't hungry.
Ever since Stonewall, any kind of sizeable gay rally drew the media—especially the city's tabloids—on the chance that there might be violence, as had been the case at the last rally when the longshoremen had shown up.
Rick was getting cold feet, especially when he noticed a stringer from the Times with a camera. He had no doubt that his job could be in jeopardy if his boss found out he was at a gay rights rally. There was no such thing as job security for known fags. The more nervous he became, the more he wanted to find Marco and tell him the whole thing was off as far as he was concerned. Still carrying his uneaten hot dog, he searched through the crowd until he found Marco by the small pond, huddling with a dozen or so other organizers, several of whom Rick recognized from the night before.
They were apparently going over the final strategy for avoiding direct confrontation with the police. Several were wearing large yellow armbands with "Monitor" in bold black letters; it was their job to keep the crowd from getting too carried away with enthusiasm, which was always a sure sign of trouble. They desperately wanted a peaceful rally which, together with other city-wide gay activities, would help build a better visible image of the gay community.
When the group broke up, Marco walked over to Rick and put his hands on the smaller man's shoulders.
"What's the problem, Sport?" he asked.
Somewhat ashamed of his cowardice, Rick still knew he had to be honest. "A guy's here from my paper," he said. "If he spots me and tells my boss, I'll be canned for sure."
Marco grinned. "But don't you see? That's exactly the kind of thing we're trying to change! Nobody should have to be afraid of losing their jobs just because they're gay."
"But we do," Rick said.
"Yes, and it's not right, and we have to make people see that. So don't worry. The worst that can happen is that he lets you go with a week's pay. Then you can work with us full time on promoting the cause."
"Wonderful," Rick said. "And I can fight the pigeons in the park for bread crusts and live in a cardboard box in an alley."
Marco grinned again. "Come on! It won't come to that. And you can always come stay with me for awhile."
"Even better!" Rick said. "I'd love being a kept boy." Despite himself he felt the anger from the night before overtaking him. "But what will you do when you want your cock sucked by some big blond number…give me a quarter and send me to the movies?"
Marco looked at him strangely. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about," he said. "But I admit we've got a hell of a lot to talk about. Now's just not the time. Just stick with me, okay?"
Rick nodded, but stared at the ground.
"Good," Marco said, and his grin returned as he patted Rick on the ass. "Now you can do me a big favor if you'll go over to the other side of the pond and round up anybody who looks like they came for the rally and tell them we're about ready to start. Me, I've got work to do. I'll meet you right here later." With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Having something to do helped assuage Rick's worries, though not completely. He was very security conscious, and even though he hated his job as copy boy, he still looked on it as a stepping stone to something he really wanted to do with his life. And he very much liked getting a paycheck every other Friday.
When he returned to the rally area, Rick noted that the reporters had also congregated around the makeshift speaker's platform. He saw the Times stringer again, and felt for certain that the guy would instantly recognize him. He stayed as much in the background as possible, while the press waited, like sharks around a shipwreck, for the possible action.
At promptly one o'clock, Marco and two other organizers—a man and a woman—climbed the platform. The man, who Rick remembered having seen at the party, used a battery-powered megaphone to address the crowd, welcoming them and introducing the woman and Marco. He then handed the megaphone to the woman, who was head of a large lesbian group, and who said the usual "we're in this together" things rally speakers inevitably say, but she got a good reception. Then she turned the megaphone over to Marco who, from the first word of his speech, made it clear that his views—and those of a great many members of the community—of the world were considerably different from those of the people in authority. He carefully detailed the injustices routinely perpetrated by the local police, and the indifference of city officials, including the mayor, in their dealings with the gay community.
Rick noticed that the members of the press just stood there. No one took notes, or photos. They were obviously just waiting. He also noticed that Marco was a very effective speaker and that he was getting quite a response from the gay members of his audience. His points were clear and irrefutable as he outlined the various types of discrimination the community underwent each day, and strongly criticized the police for spending more time raiding gay bars than catching real criminals.
On the outskirts of the crowd, two or three small groups carrying signs saying "Fags Burn in Hell", "God Hates Homosexuals," and other equally open-minded slogans began to chant "No Fags! No Fags! No Fags!" The yellow-armbanded Monitors tried to stand between them and the crowd, but it didn't work. Some of the gays nearest the sign-bearers began yelling back. One of the disrupters waved a Bible in the face of one of the monitors, screaming about abominations and the wrath of the one true—and obviously heterosexual—God. When the zealot waved the Bible a bit too closely to the Monitor's face, the Monitor lost it and slapped the Bible out of the guy's hand. That did it! The press, sensing blood in the water, turned from the platform and moved toward the action.
At that same moment, four squad cars pulled up and a pair of mounted park police appeared simultaneously. The crowd scattered as the police moved in, batons drawn.
Rick moved toward the speaker's platform, where Marco still stood, trying to say something which could not be heard over the shouts, the sirens of two more approaching squad cars, and the general confusion. The lesbian and the other man had disappeared.
A policeman appeared behind Marco, having climbed the platform, and grabbed the megaphone from his hand. Rick couldn't hear exactly what was being said, but it was an obviously heated discussion. Another cop climbed the platform and pulled out a pair of handcuffs as he approached Marco.
As Rick got nearly to the platform, where Marco was already in handcuffs, a third officer stepped in front of him. "Where do you think you're going?" the cop demanded.
"Why are you arresting my friend?" Rick demanded. "He hasn't done anything. We have a permit for the rally."
The cop put his face about three inches in front of Rick's. "Oh we do, do we? Well, get your pansy ass out of here or you'll be joining your boyfriend in the paddy wagon."
"You can't do that!" Rick shouted, immediately realizing full well that yes, he could indeed do it if he wanted to. But he'd gone too far to stop. "This is a public park and we're exercising our right to…"
The cop grabbed Rick by the shoulder and twisted him around. "Okay, sweetie, that's it. You're under arrest."
"What for?" Rick demanded.
"Disturbing the peace and interfering with an officer in the line of his duties, and you give me any more shit and I'm sure I'll be able to come up with a few more," the officer said, taking his handcuffs off his belt and pulling both of Rick's hands behind him.
As he was being led, a few steps behind Marco, to a squad car, the Times stringer spotted him and, grinning, took his photo.
He and Marco were put in the back of the same squad car. As Rick's door was slammed shut, Marco grinned at him and said: "Hello, sailor…new in town?"
Rick did not appreciate the humor.
"Well, I'm glad you're having fun," he said. "Too bad I can't say the same. I'll lose my job now, for sure."
"No great loss," Marco replied.
"Gee, thanks. Easy enough for you to say, but…"
One of the officers in the front seat turned around and glared at them. "Hey, you two, shut up back there."
"Up yours," Marco muttered. If the officer heard, he ignored it.
Rick leaned back and took a deep breath. He remained silent as the squad car moved out into traffic.
Marco leaned toward him so their shoulders were touching, their hands still in handcuffs behind their backs. "Don't worry, Sport," Marco said reassuringly.
"Worry?" Rick said. "I'm being hauled off to jail, I'm about to lose my job, and I can't even afford to hire a lawyer to get me out. Why would I worry?"
Marco nudged him with his shoulder. "Relax, buddy. If we really need one, my old man can have one there in ten minutes. Think of the publicity this thing will get in the papers. A classic case of police overreaction. It's just what we wanted!"
"We wanted?" Rick asked.
Marco ignored the sarcasm. "Sure. It'll make the gays madder'n hell. Every incident like this makes us stronger and more willing to fight back. And it will show the cops up as a bunch of storm troopers."
Marco may have been on top of the world as they were driven to the precinct house, but Rick was at the bottom of a very deep well. The future looked totally bleak. He was not convinced that everything would come up roses, and began to wonder if perhaps Marco's gay lib activities might not be his way of embarrassing his rich father.
"I'm ruined, Marco," Rick said.
"For Christ's sake, stop worrying!" Marco insisted. "Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise. They'll yell at us and we'll tell them to get fucked and then we'll all go home."
Rick had never been in jail before, and was understandably very anxious about it. Marco, however, reacted as though it were an everyday occurrence, and apparently viewed his arrest with an absolute minimum of concern.
"There's nothing to worry about," Marco said for what Rick was sure was the twenty-fifth time. "This is a minor offense. They just haul us in because they have nothing better to do with their time and it helps meet their arrest quota. The worst thing that can happen to us is that we spend one night in the can."
"What about your father's lawyer?" Rick asked.
Marco shrugged. "I don't want to drag him into it unless I really have to," he said, adding hastily "…which I don't."
The thought of even one night locked behind bars sent shivers up Rick's spine, and he lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip to the precinct. All he could think about was that dismal cell and what his folks were going to say if they saw his picture in the Times. Of course, his rational side knew full well that the chance that the Times would actually even report the rally, let alone take up valuable news space with a photo of it, was highly unlikely. But, Rick thought, with his luck.…
The squad car pulled up at the side entrance to the precinct house, and Marco and Rick were escorted into the building. Rick felt like a sheep being led into the slaughterhouse. They were pushed and prodded up a short flight of stairs and waited while one of the officers opened the door so they could enter. A number of other people from the rally were waiting inside. A bored looking officer took down the names and addresses of each of the protestors in turn. Everybody seemed to be nonchalant about the whole process—except him.
Marco was directly in front of Rick and after he'd taken Marco's name and address, the officer asked: "And what do you do for a living, Marco?"
"That's my business," Marco replied. "All I have to tell you is my name and address."
The officer looked at his blotter.
"Marco Brancotti…Marco Brancotti.…" His face lit up in recognition. "Hey, I thought you looked familiar. You're Vito Brancotti's kid—you and your brother Paolo."
Marco looked bored. "Never heard of 'em. There must be ten million Brancottis—Italians fuck a lot."
"Okay, wise ass," the officer snapped. "I want to know where you work so that we can be sure you can raise bail if you need it."
"Sure," Marco said sarcastically. "And the next day my employer will get a phone call saying, ‘Did you know you have a fag working for you?' You show me where it says I've got to tell you where I work, and I'll tell you."
"A regular little District Attorney, aren't you, buddy? Okay. Well, we'll have a little talk with you later…alone."
Marco was led away, and then Rick was motioned to the desk.
The questions were routine until it came to asking where Rick worked.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I have to tell you that," Rick said, rather surprised by his own boldness in refusing.
"You learn fast, don't you, kid?" The sergeant's voice lacked some of the animosity he had used with Marco.
Rick just shrugged.
"Son, do you know who you're hanging around with?"
"I don't know what you mean," Rick said, and he didn't.
"Well, if that kid is who I think he is, you've got yourself tied in with the Number Two son of one of the biggest racketeers in the city—Vito Brancotti." The sergeant saw the puzzled look on Rick's face. "You didn't know that, did you?" he asked.
Rick shook his head. "I didn't even know Marco's last name," he said, honestly. "And I've never heard of anybody named Brancotti until now."
"You wanna call somebody, kid?" the sergeant offered.
"I don't know anyone I would want to call," Rick said, realizing with a weakness in the pit of his stomach that what he said was true.
"Okay, son. Suit yourself."
Rick was led away through two iron-barred doors down a long, echoing corridor of zoo-like cages. It was Marco's cell the officer opened. Marco looked up and grinned.
"Dr. Livingston, I presume?"
Rick, like Queen Victoria, was not amused. "Did you ever consider a career in vaudeville?" he asked as the door slammed shut behind him. As he looked around the bleak cell, Rick wished he had never heard of Marco Brancotti, or of gay lib.
"Funny how a place grows on you," he said at last. "I've only been here five minutes, and already I hate it."
Marco laughed. "That's it, baby—keep your sense of humor whatever you do, and nobody can ever get you down. Don't worry, they won't press charges, and we'll be out in the morning. This is all designed to scare you."
"Congratulations to them, then," Rick said with a sigh. "They've succeeded."
Rick sat on the edge of one of the cots for over an hour, responding only in monosyllables to Marco's attempts to cheer him up. Finally, when Marco had given up and he'd sat in silence for another ten or fifteen minutes, Rick broke the silence.
"Did they ask you if you wanted to call someone?" he asked.
"Yeah." Now, apparently, it was Marco who was being sullen.
"Did you?" Rick asked.
"Nope."
"Couldn't you call your dad?" Rick asked.
"I could, but I won't."
Rick waited another minute then said: "I know you said you didn't want to call a lawyer, but your dad would probably want to know what happened."
"I doubt that very much," Marco replied.
Several more minutes of silence, and again it was Rick who spoke first.
"Marco?"
"Yeah?"
"Who's Vito Brancotti?"
Marco didn't answer for what seemed like a full minute, then finally sighed and replied: "My old man."
"And Paolo?"
Another sigh. "My brother."
"Marco?"
"Yeah?"
"Sounds stupid, I know, but I'm still scared."
Marco reached out his hand from his cot across the cell, and Rick jumped up from his own cot and bounded into Marco's arms. The ice was broken, and though neither of them mentioned the Brancottis, they spent the remainder of the afternoon and early evening in small talk. Rick found, however, that the talk was mostly about himself. Whenever he'd get too close to certain parts of Marco's life, Marco would change the subject, directing another question at Rick.
Lights out came at nine o'clock. There was a very dim light left on in the cell corridor, and by its light, Marco removed the mattresses from their bunks, placing them side by side on the cement floor. They lay down on the mattresses, fully clothed, with their arms around each other.
"In a few minutes, you'll forget where you are and all about this lousy day," Marco said as he put his hand behind Rick's head and pulled it to nestle on his shoulder. After a minute, he lifted Rick's chin with his free hand and kissed him, slowly pushing his tongue deep into Rick's mouth. Rick gave an involuntary whimper of passion, and his hand moved down to grasp Marco's already rigid cock through the material of his pants. Marco moved his hips slightly to push his dick harder into Rick's hand.
"You want it, baby?" Marco whispered as he let his tongue trace Rick's ear, starting at the outer edges, circling all around it, then flicking it into the ear itself.
"Oh, God, Marco! You know I do! But we can't do it here! What if they catch us?"
Marco gave a soft chuckle. "Hey," he said, "it's not like they don't already know we're gay. What would they do, put us in jail? Maybe they could learn a thing or two. Here, let's at least get out of our pants. We can always put them back on in a hurry if we have to."
Rick's eagerness to feel the actual flesh of Marco's hard cock overcame his reluctance, and they both, without getting up, undid their belts and pulled their pants around their ankles.
Marco pulled Rick over on top of him, then put his arms under Rick's armpits and lifted him forward until Rick's own stiff prick, which was bouncing up and down in time with his heartbeat, was tapping at Marco's sexy lips.
"Come on, baby," Marco whispered huskily, "slip it in my mouth."
Rick did as he was told and felt the hot wetness engulf the velvet-hard head of his prick. He leaned further forward, feeling inch after inch of his beautiful cock slipping into Marco's incredibly hot mouth. He felt the head hit the back of Marco's throat and stopped, but Marco grabbed Rick's asscheeks with both hands and pulled him forward, and Rick's hard, column-like prick slid into Marco's throat. Marco held him there for a long moment while his tongue lapped at the underside of Rick's cock. Then he released him, and Rick backed up until only the first four inches of his cock were in Marco's mouth. Marco's tongue continued to do wild things with the head and shaft, and at the same time, Marco moved one hand up and slipped his middle finger into Rick's mouth.
Rick knew instinctively what Marco wanted. He sucked the finger for a moment, rolling his own tongue over it like Marco was doing to his shaft, then made sure it was coated with his saliva. Marco withdrew his finger and moved it to between Rick's asscheeks, seeking the hot hole. Gently, he shoved his finger in all the way, rotating it slowly.
Rick pulled his cock abruptly out of Marco's sucking mouth.
"Wait!" Rick gasped. "I'm too close! I don't want to cum yet! I want your cock in me!"
Marco was still rotating his finger around gently, deep in Rick's ass.
"Marco! Stop! It's too good! I.…" His eyes grew wide and he grabbed his cock hard with one hand, as if trying to stop the inevitable. Instead Marco just moved his head forward at the same time as Rick shot his hips forward, plunging his cock deep into Marco's waiting mouth and shot his wad.
Marco's free hand clamped itself over Rick's mouth to silence the muffled scream as Rick's body shuddered violently with each blast of hot juice that spurted into Marco's mouth. Rick could see Marco's throat muscles contracting as he swallowed again and again, trying to keep up with the incredible flow. Some of it still escaped the corners of his mouth and ran down his cheek in long, white rivulets.
The shuddering stopped, but Marco kept mouthing Rick's softening dick, milking out every last drop, his finger still deeply sunk in Rick's tight ass. Finally, Marco let his head fall back on the mattress and Rick sprang quickly forward to lap up the streams of his own cum that had coursed their way out of Marco's mouth. But instead of swallowing, he clamped his lips over Marco's and let his own cream flow back into Marco's mouth. Marco swallowed it eagerly and sucked Rick's tongue to get any last traces of the delicious juice.
Rick rolled off to Marco's left side, then rested his head beside Marco's and whispered: "I'm sorry, Marco! I tried to hold back, but Jesus, you're mouth…and the incredible things you were doing with your finger up my ass…I—"
They rested a moment, then Rick climbed back to straddle Marco, in the same position as they'd started out.
"Do it again," Rick whispered. Marco looked up at him with a puzzled look and started to move his head forward toward Rick's still soft prick.
"No," Rick said, gently pushing Marco's head back, "I mean with your finger."
He lifted Marco's hand and slipped Marco's middle finger back into his mouth, wetting it thoroughly again, then moved it around to his ass and held it as he felt Marco once again probe his hole. Rick dropped his own hand down to Marco's belly and felt the long, rigid shaft which rapidly grew even longer and harder.
"You sure you don't mind?" Marco whispered.
"I told you I wanted you in me," Rick replied. "I still do."
Marco couldn't help but notice that Rick's own cock was coming back to life under the ministrations of his finger in Rick's tight ass. Rick pulled Marco's hand away long enough to slide down between Marco's legs.
"This'll help," he said, and slipped the head of Marco's now throbbing dick into his mouth. Instead of clamping his lips tightly around the shaft, Rick kept them loose, so that the saliva began to run down Marco's tall pole until it glistened wetly in the dim light.
Grabbing the base of the shaft with one hand, Rick leaned backward to free one leg entirely from his pants to allow himself better maneuverability, then raised up slightly to position himself. Guiding Marco's prick as though it were a stick gearshift, Rick felt the magnificent, silky broad head at the entrance to his tunnel. Slowly, he lowered himself, sighing in ecstacy as the head moved in with a subdued pop, then glided deeper and deeper into Rick's tight, hot hole.
Marco had placed his hands on Rick's hips, but allowed Rick to lower himself at his own pace. When Marco's curly black pubic hair was in full contact with Rick's buttocks, Rick sat for a moment, motionless, then slowly moved forward, exposing about a quarter of Marco's glistening rod, then sat back down again until the full eleven inches of Marco Brancotti's fat cock was buried in his ass. Then another slow withdrawal. Another insertion…
Slowly, at first. Very slowly. Shallow plunges. Then longer withdrawals, longer plunges.
Marco's hands gripped Rick's hips harder and harder, and he began to guide Rick's rise and descent. Their breathing became louder, mixed with quiet moans and groans. Rick's movements became faster, deeper, harder.
Suddenly, Marco halfway sat up, grabbed Rick around the waist and, his prick still fully imbedded in Rick's clasping ass, rolled Rick over onto his back. Raising his hips until only the head of his huge dick remained caught in the entrance of Rick's hole, he paused for a moment and then drove his cock in full length, so hard both grunted.
They became rutting animals, Marco's monstrous, glorious member plunging in and out of Rick's smooth, tight ass like the pistons in a runaway engine. The only way they could stifle their moans was to clamp their mouths together, each groaning loudly into the mouth of the other.
Faster! Deeper! Harder!
Until the top blew off the volcano and Rick spurted another hot load over his and Marco's chests as Marco, still pumping, shot with such force and duration his cream squirted out of Rick's tight ass and coated his own hairy balls with his juice.
Marco collapsed on top of Rick, his cock still deep in Rick's ass until it softened to the point of slipping out on its own. Rick lowered his legs, and Marco rolled off, both their bodies slippery from the exertion.
Suddenly, the lights went on in the row. Marco and Rick leaped to their feet, hastily pulling their pants back up, threw the mattresses back onto their bunks and hoped into bed. An officer strode down the row, looking into every cell. Feigning sleep, Marco and Rick heard the footsteps stop in front of their cell, then move on. The lights went out, and both Rick and Marco fell immediately to sleep.
They were, as Marco had predicted, released in the morning without problem and without bail—but not before Marco was taken into an interrogation room and seated at a long table with two plainclothes officers.
"You're Vito Brancotti's kid," one of them said. He had a small, thin face that reminded Marco of a weasel. Marco had seen the officer before.
"So?" Marco said. "Since when is being somebody's kid a crime?"
"He know you're a fag?" Weasel-face asked, squinting to watch for any reaction on Marco's face. There was none. The officer was plainly disappointed.
"So what end of the family business are you in, kid? Your old man getting a little of the fruit bar action?"
Marco flushed, but immediately regained control.
"Can I talk to you alone?" he asked Weasel-face.
The two officers exchanged glances, then the second officer nodded, got up and left the room. When he was gone, Marco leaned forward, motioning with his head for the remaining officer to come closer. He, too, leaned forward, apparently expecting some sort of confession.
Marco lowered his voice to get the officer to lean even closer.
"Listen, you fuck-faced fool, don't start pulling that shit on me…" The officer started to rise from his chair, but Marco motioned him down and continued. "It just so happens that two years ago you busted one of my buddies for hustling—but not before he had let you suck his cock. He says you're a lousy cocksucker, by the way. Anyway, he pointed you out to me, and I could never forget a face—if that's what you call it—like yours."
The officer's face reflected his shock and anger.
Marco stared at him hard, then continued. "So, smart-ass, you try something and I can give a vivid description of your fat little body, including that ugly mole on the end of your dick. My buddy noticed it while you were jacking off while sucking him. Now, how do you think that news would go over with your macho buddies?"
Marco smiled, sat back in his chair and said, in a cheerful voice and at normal volume: "Is that all, officer?" He swore the man was going to have a stroke, and Marco would have enjoyed watching it.
The weasel-eyes were narrow slits of hatred, and when he spoke, it was through clenched teeth: "Get your fuckin' ass out of here."
Rick and Marco walked out of the precinct house feeling like free men—which they were.
"See?" Marco said as they stepped into the sunlit street. "That wasn't so bad. After four or five times, it's a piece of cake."
Rick looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You're kidding, I hope."
"No," Marco said, "I think everybody should go to jail once in a while. It gives you a different perspective on life. After a while it gets to be sort of like a game, and I'm pretty good at playing by now. Sort of a family heritage, you might say."
Rick only grunted, and they walked to the subway in silence, neither feeling much like talking.
Rick reported for work the next morning, and all was routine for the first hour. Then he received a note that his boss wanted to speak to him. He knew what for.
Stopping for a long drink at the water cooler, Rick proceeded to the editor's office. The editor was occupied with a reporter, and Rick waited nervously outside the office door until he was through. When the reporter left, nodding as he passed, Rick was waved in.
"Sit down, Rick," the editor said, gesturing him to the chair the reporter had just vacated a few moments before.
He did, hoping his unease was not as obvious to the boss as it was to himself. Rick was rotten at keeping his composure under adverse conditions.
"Now," the editor said, "just relax and tell me all about it."
Rick had wondered whether or not he should try to bluff his way out of it, but had decided to just tell the truth and take his chances. But just a little hedging, he thought, might be okay.
"About what, sir?" he asked, not willing to volunteer any information unless he was asked.
The editor slid a glossy photo across the desk. It was the photo the Times stringer had taken at the rally as Rick was being led off in handcuffs.
"This is you, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Arrested at a gay rally?"
"Yes, sir."
The editor sighed.
"Unfortunately, there are certain standards and rules established for this company which I don't make, but which I must enforce—one of which is a morals clause, which precludes our employing known sexual deviants." He gave Rick a weak smile, telling Rick he was only performing a reluctant duty.
"Please understand, Rick, that it doesn't matter to me whether you're gay or not. You've been a fine employee, and I know full well we have dozens of gays on our payroll…but they aren't photographed being arrested at a gay lib rally. We would never print this photo, but others may well have been taken, and there are other newspapers—our rivals—who would love to make an issue of it."
Rick only nodded.
"So I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go. Maybe someday the rules will change, but right now…" the boss sighed. "I'm stretching the rules a bit and giving you two weeks' severance pay, plus your week's vacation pay. I've told Personnel to have it ready for you. And I'll be happy to give you a good reference for your next job without mentioning this incident."
He stood up and extended his hand. Rick got up and leaned across the desk to take it.
"Good luck, Rick," the boss said.
"Thank you, sir," Rick replied, then turned and walked from the editor's office. He stopped at his desk to pick up a few personal it
ms, then went to Personnel to pick up his check
He felt as though his entire world had collapsed around
him. He hadn't been wild about his particular job at the paper, but it was
steady work for a guy with no special training.
Pocketing his check, Rick left the Times building
for the last time.
He called Marco as soon as he got home and was rather
hurt by Marco's lack of concern over the news.
"Actually," Marco said, "it's about the best thing that
could have happened."
"I'm glad you think so," Rick replied, sullenly. "How
am I supposed to support myself? I'll start looking for another job immediately,
of course, but there are no guarantees about how long it might take me to
find one."
"I told you not to worry about that," Marco said, cheerfully.
"Come on over and we'll talk about it."
Rick took the subway to Marco's apartment where he was
greeted at the door by Marco, holding a Familia of champagne. He pulled Rick
into the living room and sat him down. He then poured them both a glass of
champagne and toasted Rick's newly gained freedom from the ranks of the
employed—Rick with somewhat less enthusiasm than Marco. Then they toasted
each other, also Queen Victoria, the rising of the sun in the east, and the
Familia was empty.
As they sat side by side on the sofa, Rick said: "How
am I going to pay my rent? It's due Tuesday and I've got enough for this
coming month, but…"
Marco shrugged. "I'll pay it. Or you can move in here
until you find another job. Your place is furnished, right? Month to
month?"
"Yeah, but…"
"Then you can move in here for now, and save the
money."
Rick shook his head "I can't do that," Rick said, "or
let you pay my rent."
"Why not?" Marco asked. "My old man has more dough than
he'll ever use. He pays for everything."
"But I told you…I don't want to be a kept boy!"
Marco laughed. "Maybe we should toast Queen Victoria
again," he said. "It's not a matter of being kept, it's a matter of being
practical!"
Rick knew he was weakening. "I still don't like the idea
of living here with you…" he caught himself "…I mean…well,
you know what I mean. What if you get tired of me and throw me out? We don't
even know each other all that well."
"Well," Marco said, "I know you're just about the hottest
sex I've ever had."
Rick blushed. "So are you, for me," he said, "…but
that's hardly a solid reason to move in."
Marco reached over and gently grabbed Rick's crotch,
feeling the immediate response.
"Seems like a good reason to me."
Rick quickly moved Marco's hand away, though he didn't
want to.
"I'm serious, Marco," he said. "You might get tired of
me really fast."
Marco grinned. "That's not likely," he said, "but if
it happens, it happens. What have we lost? You're going to be looking for
another job anyway, aren't you?" Rick nodded. "So if you want to, you can
move back out again. You might get tired of me, too, you know."
"Talk about not being likely…" Rick said.
"Okay, then," Marco said, getting up to go get another
Familia of champagne from the kitchen. When he reappeared in the doorway
to the living room, he said: "Grab our glasses and come with me."
Rick did as he was told and followed Marco to a bedroom
Rick had not seen before. It was painted solid black, with black shutters
on the window. Two tall black floor lamps stood on either side of the
black-sheeted bed. On the far side of the room, Rick saw a harness-like affair
suspended from the ceiling. The whole room had an atmosphere of excitement
and…well, Rick decided …forbidden pleasures.
"Welcome to the Master bedroom," Marco said with a sexy
smile.
Setting the champagne on the black bedside table, Marco took the two glasses
from Rick's hand and set them beside the champagne, then began to undress
Rick—slowly, sensuously. When Rick was stark naked, he returned the
favor. He was feeling the champagne, and it seemed to give him a new appreciation
for the spectacular body he was undressing. Every muscle, every curve of
Marco's phenomenal pecs, his clearly outlined abs, the patch of dark, curly
hair between his perfect-circle coffee-brown nipples.…He felt the head
of his now stiff dick scraping the rough pubic hair surrounding Marco's own
rapidly rising cock.
The two naked bodies, one lightly olive skinned, the
other much lighter, stood out in stark contrast to the otherwise totally
black room, and accentuated even further the raw sensuality of the two young
men. Grasping Rick by his pulsating cock, Marco led him to the bed and pushed
him gently backwards onto the black satin sheets. He arranged Rick's legs
so that he was lying fully in the center of the bed, then climbed onto the
bed himself and straddled him, but supporting himself on his hands and the
tips of his toes so that while he was completely over Rick, they were not
in fact touching. Slowly, he lowered himself onto Rick until his full weight
was on him, pushing him deeper into the bed. Their eyes were locked on one
another and slowly, Marco lowered his face toward Rick's. When he was about
eight inches away, Marco parted his lips with his tongue and opened his mouth,
his red, velvety tongue snaking out in slow motion. Rick, lightheaded from
the champagne and consumed by lust watched Marco's tongue coming closer,
and he opened his own mouth, unable to control a soft whimper of pure
desire.
Marco circled his arms around Rick's body as his tongue
thrust itself into Rick's waiting mouth, and quickly rolled Rick over until
he was on top of Marco. Without breaking the kiss, they writhed over the
bed: Rick on top, then Marco, then Rick. Their hips ground together, their
stiff pricks pressed one on top of the other, becoming slippery with
pre-cum.
Rick started to reach down with both hands to grab Marco's
throbbing cock, but Marco suddenly grabbed Rick's wrists tightly with both
his own hands and forced Rick's arms up over his head.
"See that?" Marco asked, jerking his head toward the
sling hanging from the ceiling.
Rick merely nodded.
"Know what it is?" Marco asked, his voice husky with
desire.
Rick nodded again.
"I want to put you in it," Marco whispered. "You'd like
that, wouldn't you?"
Rick had never been in a sling, but he was so far consumed
by the feeling of Marco's fantastic body on his, the feel of his gigantic
rod pressing into Rick's belly, that he'd be willing to try anything.
"Yes!" Rick heard himself answer, also in a hoarse
whisper.
"You're sure?" Marco asked, teasing, slowly grinding
his hips against Rick's, sliding their trapped pricks against one another.
"Yes!" Rick said, more loudly than he'd intended.
"You want it?"
"Yes! Yes, I want it. Please! I want it!"
"And do you know what I'm going to do when I've got you
there?" Marco asked, his very voice liquid sex.
"Tell me!" Rick begged.
Marco continued the slow grinding of his hips, which,
together with his voice, was driving Rick wild with excitement.
Marco leaned forward to put his lips close to Rick's
ear.
"First," he whispered, "I'm going to lick your ass. I'm
going to lick it until you scream with pleasure. Then I'm going to slip my
tongue into that beautiful little hole of yours and ream you until you can't
stand it."
"Wait!" Rick pleaded.
Marco ignored him. "Then, when my spit is running out
of that tight little hole, I'm going to stand up and put the head of my
dick…"
"Marco! No! Wait! Please! I'm too close! Wait!"
Marco merely locked his eyes onto Rick's and continued
"…at the entrance, and then I'm going to ease it in, real slow…"
"Marco! Wait!!" Rick's eyes opened wide. "I can't…"
he gasped "…I can't hold…I…suck it, Marco! Please suck it
NOW!"
Marco's face broke into a huge grin as he slid himself
rapidly down Rick's body and opened his mouth to scoop the head of Rick's
joint into his mouth. But before he could reach it, Rick cried out a long
"Aaahh!" and began shooting. A huge stream of thick cream shot out of the
slit of his cock and splattered onto Marco's chin and cheek before Marco
had a chance to clamp his lips around the jerking head and begin
swallowing.
The shuddering of Rick's body slowed, then stopped, as
did the mighty spurting of his dick. Again, Marco kept sucking and milking
until Rick grabbed his head and pulled him away.
"No! Please! That's all I've got!"
Marco scooted back up the bed and kissed Rick, who could
taste his own cum on Marco's lips.
They lay in silence on their backs, staring at the ceiling until Rick turned
to Marco and said: "That wasn't fair."
Marco feigned an expression of mild puzzlement. "What
wasn't fair?" he asked innocently.
Rick reached out and pushed Marco's shoulder. "You did
that deliberately!" Rick said. "You just wanted to see how hot you could
get me before I blew!"
Marco grinned. "Guilty," he said. "Worked pretty well,
I'd say."
Rick returned the grin. "Yeah, I'd say, too. But what
about the sling?"
"It'll be there," Marco said.
"And what about you?" Rick asked, reaching for Marco's
momentarily soft prick.
"Well," Marco said, "if you're not too tired."
"I'm never too tired to suck that beauty," Rick said,
moving down on the bed, laying his head on Marco's flat stomach, watching
Marco's magnificent love tool begin to lengthen.
Rick positioned his head so that the quickly expanding
rod would find its way directly into his mouth. He watched in fascination
as the head of the monster appeared from the long foreskin, which slowly
peeled back like a rosebud opening. It reached Rick's lips, which he opened
, encouraging it forward with his tongue. As he closed his mouth over the
now fully stiff organ, Marco sighed.
"Run your tongue under the foreskin, babe," he directed
softly. Since it was hard to tell, when Marco's dick was hard as a rock,
that he was uncircumcised, Rick had to grab the shaft and push the foreskin
back up over the fat dick head. It was easier than he'd thought it would
be. When the head was fully covered, Rick inserted the tip of his tongue
into the puckered fold of skin to find the head beneath. Without letting
the foreskin slip back around the shaft, Rick began to trace the full head
with his tongue, watching in fascination the movement of his tongue under
the foreskin as in made smooth circles around the smooth head.
"That's great, Ricky. Now suck. I've got one hell of
a load waiting for you."
Rick did as he was told, and Marco was definitely
right.
(And Rick hadn'r even met Marco's twin brother, Paolo, yet!
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