Copyright (c) 2003 by Giovanni Major Mastrogiacomo. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to Nifty Archives, to archive and display this work. All other uses are expressly forbidden unless explicit arrangement has been made with the author. This copyright applies to all chapters and pages of this work. It may not be reproduced, posted, stored electronically, or archived, except for personal, non-public use, without the express written permission of the author.
A Night in Kent
Hey guys. Thanks so much for the nice notes and teasing tidbits! Someone asked how old I was when I had my first boyfriend and when I came out and all I could think of in replay was, -my poor mother! I came out when I came out -- of my poor mother.
I am one of identical twins, born with what doctors deemed, a possible, `slight' case of hypertrichosis, a genetic disease causing much of the body to be covered with a thick growth of short, soft, black hair; often referred to as werewolfism. No, I do NOT howl at the moon, grow claws, or seek out unsuspecting victims. (Well not like Lone Chaney did in the movies anyway!)
By the time my brother and I entered junior high school we had gotten used to the staring, pointing and rude comments. Though neither of us had hairy faces, like some victims of this disease, we were both heavily bearded and shaving along side dear old Dad and our older brother. Now before you get TOO far ahead of yourself, yes, the first day of gym class was most definitely an embarrassing one.
While I found the other boy's curiosity a source of excitement, my brother found it more humiliating than stimulating. In fact, he soon joined the swim team and shaved nearly all of his body hair off, leaving just what one would expect to find in a young man's nether regions.
Lou, my younger brother by ten whole minutes, quickly faded into the backdrop of normalcy while I stood front and center, down stage for all to see. Not only did I allow my beard to grow out, I allowed the hair on my head to grow exceedingly long, down to my hairy little butt by age sixteen. My family begged, pleaded, and demanded that I cut my hair and shave my beard but my hissy fits proved to be far more annoying than my hair. (I decided that my older brother and my father were simply jealous, that at 16, I had far more hair on my chest than they would EVER have.)
The feel of my hair has always been a source of pleasure for me, and I suspect, my sex partners. My poor mother and father were all too aware of my being gay. By the time I graduated junior high, parents throughout the school district were sighing in relief that their son's going into junior high would be safe. I would be lurking about the senior high leaving the tender young boys behind.
On more than one occasion, my father requested that I not make a sexual conquest of EVERY boy in high school. He was actually serious when explaining that it would be unfair to the girls and other gay boys if I didn't leave at least a FEW boys for them. I acquiesced --to a degree. Like my hairiness, I decided that my need for man-juice was also a genetic thing.
Producing no anxiety at all for my parents, my brother quietly went about his own conquests. I have long suspected that many of my so-called sexual victims were actually not mine at all. Louie was well adept at extracting man-juice; he just kept it secret.
Not being able to keep a secret is why I met my first real boyfriend. Oh, yes, I had had simply thousands of momentary encounters with schoolboys, but none of them captivated me like Kent. I was helping the guys on the soccer team as they stood in line waiting for me to relieve some of their sexual tension in the locker room when I had gotten to all of them but one.
Kent, a reddish blond guy who was himself, luxuriously covered in sandy colored body hair, sporting absolutely the best, most delectable thighs on the team. Not to mention that his handsome groin had been in my imagination for months. Yet, it was one of the (very) few in school that hadn't been embedded in my throat. In fact, I had never even seen him with an erection, not even as he tried not to watch me service his teammates. On numerous occasions.
Perhaps his playing hard to get hard was the captivating aspect for me. My kind services were continually turned down no matter how hard I tried, - or was, for that matter. Really, I'm not sure why I bothered. Aside from the furry coating, the massive thighs, the concrete bubble butt and the perfect teeth, the silk voice, and the waiving eyelashes, he was just like any other guy.
So exactly why I stalked him is still, to this day, a mystery. Luckily, when I found Kent sunning in the nude on the bank of a deserted stretch of river, I could once again offer my services. But at that time, to bath his sunburned skin with cooling cream. He seemed angry and shocked but I'm sure that was a rouse. As Kent turned onto his rippling, hairy stomach, I took it as my queue to slather lotion on his back.
A bit jumping that one. Especially when I pushed my hand between his very tightly clenched thighs. But I managed to mat his furry coat well and leave a nice pool of suntan lotion oozing down the arch of his butt-crack. I have never felt buns that could clamp together so tightly! Good God! They actually NEEDED to be loosened up!
As difficult as it was to drive my thumb between his ass-cheeks, I'm sure his complaining was simply because he knew how truly difficult a task lie before me. By the time my thumb popped through his vice-grip sphincter, the wet spot on my shorts was so huge it looked as if I'd pissed my pants!
Before sunset Kent relaxed. My thumb, my finger, two fingers, three fingers, eventually they all got in there, wiggling around, bumping his prostate and making his erection so complete that I thought his hairy body was levitating. He spun onto his back while my thumb was still clamped in his vice-grip to reveal a magnificent erection of proportions one could only show with pride.
Obviously, he'd been pumping copious amounts of pre-cum since the fur on his abdomen was matted and slimy. A Polaroid moment if ever there was one! It took little coaxing to have him agree to let my fingers do some walking. Walking across the bunny-hills of his stomach and wrap themselves around his silky fat throbber.
Sadly, Kent instantly unleashed a most violent and overwhelming orgasm. Liquid joy poured down upon his furry self, fantasy-sized pools just awaiting my eager tongue to bath in them. Gosh, who knew he'd be so ticklish? (He nearly decapitated my captured thumb in his vice-grip while having his Fourth of July orgasm, spasm after spasm he tried to slice it in twain.)
It took a good deal of time and effort but I at last had Kent's fur coating cleaned and dried. Amazingly, his erection continued bouncing to the rhythm of his heart as it reached out in a desperate cry for attention. Breaking mother's rule to never talk with one's mouth full, I asked Kent why he had never joined in any of the other reindeer games before.
Modesty! It was too public. Lord, there were nearly 800 men in my senior high school (not including those among the staff that found me irresistible) and not one, not a single one waiting in line had ever mentioned anything about modesty while I was sliding down, slamming my face against their abdomens. Kent was one in (almost) a thousand!
An honor I will cherish to my last breath, Kent allowed me to lap away his virginity. The boy never even masturbated before! No wonder I almost drowned! Once his Virgin's of America Club card was well and truly shredded, Kent was unstoppable. Like an addict with a new drug, he immersed himself in a blur of sexual acts, varied, and crowded tightly together.
That afternoon when Kent had nearly squeezed the thumb off my hand, we rolled around in each other's arms for hours. Kent drove his erection into my fuzzy butt like a man who'd spent his last dime drilling for oil. Though not unmanageably long, his thick erection did seem to fill me up like no other ever had. And I loved it. I loved feeling his erection pulse as he gushed inside of me. I love the way Kent would tease me, pulling out to the tip and slipping back in fast and deep. His playful stabs and desperate reaching pushes were like the most absolute of aphrodisiacs.
Kent's furry muscles squashing me into the river bank and rasping over my own carpeted body created joy in me so complete and deep that I didn't know if I wanted spray my orgasm into the heavens or relax my soul into the oblivion on sensations to slumber there forever after. I did both.
It was Kent that made the decision, dropping his body down onto my awaiting shaft. In one fell swoop his tender virginity was stabbed away. I was first to probe the depths of his interior. His enthusiasm was unbounded. Twice he demanded that I unleash myself inside of his body. Twice I did as I was commanded. Twice I fell in love with that man. Twice I felt more alive with Kent than I had felt anywhere with anyone.
Under a star-lighted sky my sweat dripped down onto Kent's back as I panted and gasped, grunting in my effort to flood his interior. My shaky arms gave way, dropping me flat against Kent's heated, exhausted body. My shaft still embedded, still tightly clamped in his vice-grip. My head draped over his shoulder, ear to ear, I fell asleep, my tangled mass of hair curled up next to us like a loyal dog.
Dawn's illumination revealed our sticky, dirty bodies still fused together. Pain shivered its way into me from the end of my flaccid penis, still choked within Kent's vice-like sphincter. Trying to pull away, Kent woke, instantly redoubling his hold on my shriveled manhood. Rocking his hips, Kent tried to reawaken my penis for a morning encore. So many conflicting thoughts and sensations sloshing around inside my head. Pain from Kent's death grip on my penis demanded that I retreat, fear of permanent damage coming to the forefront. Knowledge of having spent a night outside, naked, in a public place, with my cock inside another naked man stirred my sexual self. Complete relaxation and comfort created by holding this naked man in my arms a new realm for me, -one I liked, a lot. Being first to penetrate, first to taste, and being the first man to handle Kent, bringing him to orgasm, created powerful feelings of ownership.
My erection returned, I pressed myself tightly to Kent's body. As I went to roll on top of him, Kent stopped me, instead, rolling himself on top of me. Kent's warm body covered mine as he rocked his hips, sliding my erection in and out of his comforting warmth. Dropping his head back, breathing loudly, Kent's strong hands attached themselves to my sides, just at my hipbones.
Kent's nipples instantly hardened as my fingertips whispered around their big dark circles. He moaned. He grabbed my hand, stuffing my cum-caked fingers into his mouth. Kent's tongue tangled itself through my fingers, lacing away a mix of his cum and mine. That familiar, glorious feeling began, telling me that an orgasm was a definite possibility.
Our hips rocked, making sure my erection pushed as deeply into Kent's body as we could get it. I started to lose my rhythm when Kent's hands held me still. Receding just slightly, my orgasm started building again as Kent's steady, paced movements teased me, tortured me with pleasure.
Is started to happen. My muscles tightening, my body trying to refuse, my hand pumping Kent's fat shaft as I flexed so tightly that my body was vibrating. I couldn't hold on anymore! It was too powerful! With an enormously loud bellow, I exploded deep into Kent's body as his own geyser crashed down over us, his gasping; echoes of my bellow.
Kent continued rocking his hips, gasping loudly with each heaving breath. I had never felt so at peace with the world as at that moment with Kent's ass sliding up and down on my softening erection, as we lay on the riverbank in the warming dawn. For the first time in my life, as the new day reached up over the horizon, I had made love.