Jeremy M rode up to his apartment in Boston just after 7pm on Saturday night, a little bit later than he had predicted. It had been a great ride today. The glorious cape weather allowed him to ride fast.
But of course he'd gotten a much later start from P'town than he should have.
That was Paolo's fault.
Jeremy's ass was sorer from the pounding he got from Paolo this morning than it was from sitting on his bike saddle for seven hours. Seven hours wasn't bad, he'd ridden for longer.
On his bike that is. Even Jeremy M would have to agree that he could not get fucked for more than seven hours straight!
He hoisted his bike over one shoulder and carried it up the stairs.
Jeremy M lived in a studio apartment on Dartmouth Street in Back Bay, just a couple blocks from the Charles River. He had rented it when he got to Boston last year, his first year as a Masters student in English at Boston University. It wasn't very much space of course. Not many apartments in this part of town were, but he'd felt lucky to get it. He liked being off campus, not right in the middle of the thousands of undergrads who Jeremy M might have to be teaching at some point in their college careers. And, it was also a few blocks farther away from Fenway Park and all the madness of Boston Red Sox baseball.
Being in the heart of Back Bay also let Jeremy M be just a little closer to his gym, which happened to be just down the block on Dartmouth street. He was there pretty much every day, a fact of life for a triathlete trying to train through the very long and ridiculously cold New England winters.
Jeremy M unlocked his door with the key strung around his neck, then carefully hung his bike on two hooks he had placed on a beam in his ceiling. The beam was old and had been holding up the roof of his apartment for a very long time; it had probably been placed there during the American Revolution so it was certainly still capable of holding up a few extra pounds of carbon frame bike.
The only problem for Jeremy M was that the wheels hung down a long way from the ceiling, over his couch. Not a big deal for Jeremy M when he was by himself in the apartment. Being on the shorter side, he could easily adjust himself and sit under his bike to grade papers or read or watch TV. But, those bike tires were a pain when he had a houseguest, and things started off on the couch before they made it over to his bed, Jeremy's feet were constantly banging up against the rubber. Or worse, the spokes.
Tonight there would be no houseguest. Tonight Jeremy M had an appointment. And his favorite massage therapist had no bicycle hanging from the ceiling over his massage table. Jeremy M's feet would not be banging against the spokes on anybody's bike tires tonight.
Jeremy M peeled off his heavy back pack. The weight of his clothes from the one night he spent in Provincetown, along with his extra water bottles had been a burden today, and his shoulders were stiff from the effort of supporting it all for over a hundred miles. His jersey was plastered to his skin with sweat.
Jeremy M peeled off his clothes and threw them into the floor of his shower. Might as well wash things up in there while he cleaned himself up. He was a busy guy after all, there w as very little time for washing clothes the usual way.
He checked his watch before setting it down on the tiny sink in his bathroom. Good. He still had an hour and a half to clean up, slam dinner, and jog over to his massage guy by 9pm. No problem.
In the bathroom mirror, Jeremy M frowned at the image he saw. His dark red hair was in very bad shape after a day under his bike helmet. His face was streaked with salt and dead bugs. The parts of his face where he had not managed to get enough sun screen were bright red, his tiny freckles screaming for attention. He looked thin, his perfectly chiseled chin and nose sharper than usual. His tight face was usually a good thing--he got loads of comments from people telling him he should model, but Jeremy M didn't think there was too much commercial interest in a red haired triathlete who didn't make it all the way to five and a half feet tall. Still, his green eyes added a helpful splash of color to his face, allowing a lot of people, including himself, to forgive all of the other imperfections.
While he let the shower water heat up, Jeremy M grabbed a Vitamin Water from his refrigerator. He finished it in half a minute. That would help.
The hot shower relaxed him immediately. For pipes that Paul Revere himself had probably installed in the 1700s, Jeremy M had great water pressure. He could stand under the stream in his apartment shower for days.
But, he had a date with his massage therapist tonight so he washed up quickly. Jeremy M spent a few extra seconds on his ass, rubbing the section where his legs connected, a preview of his naked date coming up at nine o'clock. Soaping up his cock, he felt himself throb gently with the anticipation of what was still to come. So what if he'd been fucked by Paolo within an inch of his life just this morning. That was then, tonight was tonight.
He was semi erect in no time.
His sexual appetite was insatiable lately.
Ignoring his fat dick, he shut off the water and reached for his towel. He swung open the shower curtain. Because of the steam from his shower, he could no longer see his reflection in the mirror. But he knew what he looked like. He licked a finger and absently rubbed at one of his hairless nipples. With the same moist finger, he rubbed around the circular rosebud of his asshole. His cock, already thick and already begging for attention, stood out at ninety degrees from his crotch, a well-trimmed wisp of reddish pubic hair encircling the base.
Did he have time to jerk himself off?
Maybe yes if he just grabbed a yogurt and didn't bother with dinner?
Cumming wouldn't take very long anyway. Not with the memory of Paolo's epic Latin penis still fresh in his butt. Not with the excitement about his upcoming massage just minutes away. And not with the fantasy he had been conjuring all day while he pedaled along Route 6: that guy TJ from his English class. Fucking him in his office at BU, his chest on a stack of essays on his desk.
If he was going to jerk off right now--and the message from his dick was very clear on this point--Jeremy M had plenty of sexual situations to work with so he could get the job done. His brain spun in circles coming up with just the right fantasy.
His wet finger penetrated his own butt. That made pre-cum leak from the top of his cockhead, it always did.
Jeremy M rubbed the pre-cum off of the tip of his dick with his palm, and then tugged at his balls. They were warm from the shower, and hung down sloppily against one thigh.
He decided on TJ. That was the fantasy for now. He closed his eyes.
TJ had come in to complain about the grade that Jeremy M had given him on the David Copperfield essay test. At first, they talked about the book, and how poor little David was actually a metaphor for a penis. A growing penis that got larger and larger as David got older and experienced more and more of the challenging world. TJ wasn't buying it, he demanded proof. Jeremy M offered to show TJ exactly what he meant. But that would require TJ being naked, at least from the waist down. Eager to learn, TJ had cast his clothes over the back of Jeremy's desk chair. As Jeremy M explained the story of David Copperfield to TJ, in these terms, TJ's long beautiful cock grew longer. Jeremy M commented that it reminded him of the Tower of London. TJ blushed and tried to hide his growing hardness. But Jeremy M insisted that it was a healthy way of looking at a Dickens novel. TJ was skeptical, so Jeremy M cast his own clothes over the back of his desk chair. TJ responded by flipping his teaching assistant over and slamming Him onto the desk, essay tests scattering in all of the chaos and excitement. Jeremy M urged TJ to extend the metaphor. Let his Tower of London grow to massive proportions. TJ reluctantly agreed, his cock engorged, Jeremy M's willing butthole the river Thames. If TJ could just place his Tower of London inside the mouth of the river Thames, all would become clear. So just fuck me for crissakes, TJ!
Jeremy M shot a load of cum onto the floor of his bathroom. Okay, good, that was quick.
Then the phone rang.
Was it TJ calling from the Tower?
Jeremy M wiped his hands on a towel.
A long thin rope of semen dangled from the tip of his dick,he wiped at that too. He hated to use his shower towels for cum, but with the phone ringing there was no time to find something else. He hustled out of his bathroom, smacking his hard-on against the bathroom doorknob as he did.
Jeremy M reached his cell phone just before the fourth ring was done.
"Jeremy? Hi, it's Paolo."
Paolo? Why would he be calling? Jeremy felt his anal sphincter ache as his brain registered Paolo's voice.
"Hi Paolo. What's going on?"
Paolo sounded a little loud and also a little distant at the same time, like he was in a car talking on the speaker.
"I am glad I reached you," Paolo said. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. You know? After your ride."
Hmm. That was weird. Paolo never called him. Jeremy M usually talked to Donnie, Paolo's boyfriend. He was much closer friends with Donnie. He didn't even realize that Paolo knew his cell number.
"Um, I'm all right I guess, if you mean my bike ride. It was pretty sweet, my legs feel fine. I just got home a little while ago and was coming out of the shower when you called."
"Oh great!" Paolo sounded relieved, as if he had his doubts Jeremy M would have been able to safely bike home all the way from P'town. If he was worried about that, Paolo didn't know much about Jeremy's cycling skills.
"Of course, if you mean that other ride, well that's another story," Jeremy M teased.
He had been fucked so well, so completely by Paolo just before he had hopped onto his bike saddle, well, that was a ride that one didn't bounce back from quite so quickly.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Paolo didn't respond to Jeremy M's comment immediately. Uh oh! What if Donnie was in the car too? What an idiot he was! At least for now, that was supposed to be their secret; he didn't know how Donnie would react.
Jeremy M heard Paolo sigh deeply.
"Yeah, that other ride was very nice for me too."
Thank God! Paolo wouldn't say that if Donnie was in the car with him. He relaxed.
"In fact, that's exactly why I'm calling," Paolo said, his voice lower, oozing with his usual Latin charm.
It is? He wants to talk about that?
His cock had started to soften a little when he'd banged it on the bathroom door. Now, with Paolo wanting to talk to him about sex, Jeremy M felt his cock reverse course.
"Okay," Jeremy M said, stretching out the second syllable. "You want to discuss what happened this morning? Is there a problem?"
Paolo hesitated again. Jeremy M listened to him breathing. Somehow, even Paolo's lungs sounded had a way of sounding sexy.
"Um yes...I mean, no. There is no problem. I loved that. You are a very good bottom."
Of course he was a good bottom. Jeremy M already knew that.
"Thank you. You are a very good top."
"Are you sore? I would think that you might be, I mean, most guys I.... Well, it's just that I figured I would ask if..."
This time Jeremy M laughed.
"Yes my ass is sore Paolo! Even a power bottom like me can only take so much! You'd be sore too if you'd been fucked by a dick like yours!"
Paolo chuckled at that.
"I suppose you're right," Paolo said.
Of course I'm right, Jeremy M thought to himself. It wasn't every day that Jeremy M came across a guy with cock that was super thick and super long all at once, and who could stay hard for as long as Jeremy could take it. Nope. It had been an epic fuck all right. He couldn't remember when he had so completely enjoyed it like he had with Paolo this morning.
So Jeremy M would be sore for a while, and he would enjoy that too.
"Anyway Paolo, what's up? You don't usually call me. I am heading out to get a massage in a few minutes."
"It's Donnie," Paolo finally said. "We had a fight and I took off."
"What are you talking about?" Jeremy M asked.
"We fought. It was a bad one. And now. I am headed back home. Alone."
Jeremy M hoped that this had nothing to do with him. He knew he shouldn't have let Paolo...Well, actually, if he had it to do all over again...
He would definitely do it again.
But he didn't want to be the reason for them to split up or anything. They were both his friends and that would totally suck.
"Gee Paolo, I'm really sorry, and I hope you guys are okay."
"Don't worry, we'll be fine. We fight all the time. He just needs some time to himself," Paolo said.
Jeremy M was relieved.
"And I was just going to head back to New Haven so I could get some stuff done without him," Paolo added.
"Um, good then, I guess," Jeremy M said.
"Do you want to come with me? I could pick you up."
Jeremy M blinked his eyes. What?
"No! I mean, what are you talking about? Go with you to New Haven?"
"Yes. I am on Route 6 now. I could be in Boston in like 90 minutes or so."
"Um, well I have a massage..."
Jeremy M checked the clock. His massage was in less than an hour. And he still needed to eat something.
"Okay, well, how long will your massage take? An hour?"
Well, it was scheduled for an hour. But if the end of his massage went as Jeremy M was hoping, it could wind up being a lot longer.
"I don't know, I have some papers to grade," Jeremy M said.
This was true.
"There will time for all that," Paolo said. "After we're done."
After we're done?
Oh yeah. After we're done. This was sounding like a good offer. Jeremy M didn't really want to be done with Paolo. He looked down at his cock; it was most of the way back to boner-ville; the human penis was an amazing thing.
"Come on Jeremy. We can try that reverse cowboy thing again? Remember that?"
Did he remember that? Duh, of course he remembered. And reverse cowboy was a personal favorite of Jeremy's.
This sounded pretty good. Maybe he could make it work. He didn't have to teach on Monday anyway. And he could grade papers in the car.
And then there was the matter of that big cock.
Yes he would go along with Paolo to New Haven. It sounded fun. And, besides, he couldn't think of any very good excuses not to let Paolo fuck him again.
There was the small matter of Donnie, he supposed. This could be bad for their friendship of course if Donnie were to find out. But Paolo had said that he and Donnie had a fight. And he clearly needed a little help to get through this difficult period. Jeremy M was confident he was just the ticket.
And besides, if anybody would understand the allure of being banged over and over again by Paolo, Donnie certainly would. He knew well what dangled between Paolo's legs.
"Well, I should be done with my massage dude by 10:30 or so. Give or take," Jeremy M said. "I'll just bring my stuff with me and you can pick me up from there."
It was all set. Jeremy M tossed a few things into his back pack, and grabbed his laptop. He was halfway out the door when his stomach reminded him that he still hadn't eaten. He was starved, and he was actually feeling a little spent. Tomorrow morning--or maybe even tonight--he would need his strength.
Oh well, that would have to wait. He could pick something up once Paolo got there.
Tommy McKeon considered himself a very good police officer. Maybe even the best to come out of his class at the New Haven PD academy. Everybody thought so, even his best friend Brian Ruggazione told him that he was the best. He was frequently being told by both his colleagues and by his superior officers that he had just the right balance that it took to be a great cop: an amazing work ethic, a high degree of trust, plenty of courage and bravado, a strong sense of the law and even a good understanding of his importance in the community. Tommy wasn't sure of all that at first, but after a few years on the force, he knew that nobody worked harder, nobody commanded the respect from his fellow officers, nobody could shoot like him, and nobody had as clean a history.
Yes indeed, Tommy was born to be a cop. Maybe he'd be chief one day. One day really soon.
But this past week had been a nightmare. A blemish, in his own mind at least, on his otherwise perfect record as a New Haven police officer.
If he was really going to work himself up the ranks of the department that he hoped to lead one day, he was going to have to erase the events of the past week. He had a cleanup job to do. And he intended to clean it up well. There must be no trace of this whole fucking mess in his job file.
It had taken him a few days, but he had come up with an idea to fix his problem. And today was the day that he intended to set his plan into action.
It was mid-morning on Saturday.
Tommy stood in front of the mirror of his bathroom, shaving. He'd closed the door to block out the big distraction outside.
In his late twenties, he was losing the hair on his head faster than he would have liked. But his face was taut, his features accentuated. He liked how he looked. He was often told he looked a lot like Heath Ledger, but that was usually when his head was covered with a baseball cap and the hair didn't show. So he wore a lot of baseball caps; his collection was huge, perhaps his one indulgence that had nothing whatsoever with being a cop. Just an indulgence in himself. Looking good for everyone whenever possible.
Tommy's upper arms-probably his very favorite part of his own body-were perfectly muscled. After he became a cop, he had gotten his arms tattooed, and he liked to show them off by wearing sleeveless t-shirts. Wife beaters. The tattoos were flames. It seemed like the right choice given that his arms were hot, why shouldn't they be covered with fire?
Working out was Tommy's passion. Maybe even more so than his love of his job. And Tommy was just as good at the gym with a set of weights as he was as a young New Haven police officer. Through a steady diet of discipline, careful attention to what he put into his system, and several hours at the gym each day, Tommy had crafted himself into a physical work of art. He had just three percent body fat (and he was working on reducing that), he was strong and fast, he could do more pull-ups than anybody else in the city, and his abs were a perfect eight pack.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror while he shaved, it was sad he had to cover himself up to go to work. Good art should be appreciated by all, right?
But for a few lucky people who he had sex with, it was sad that only the guys in the locker room got to see Tommy completely naked. His body shouldn't be hidden by his police uniform. It should be in display for all to see. And to admire.
Tommy knew that such a body should not be wasted in prison. Those wastoids didn't deserve him. There was no way that this past week, this fucked-up nightmare was going to land Tommy in the State Pen. He would fix it.
And today was the day he made sure. He would not do time. If the events he had in mind to fix this huge problem worked, then he was back to just being Tommy the cop. And back on track to a great career in the department. If.
The past couple days had not gone exactly as Max had hoped would have hoped either.
He and TJ had arrived on schedule into New Haven all right, but TJ had been most uncooperative when it came to having sex with Max in the hotel room. Very inconvenient.
Max thought that TJ might be a little more receptive to his amorous advances in the morning after they'd cuddled a bit and TJ had had had a good night's sleep. But no, that didn't work either. Despite all the support Max dished out, TJ was unresponsive to Max. Max had to be creative.
Douse himself with Axe? Possible, very possible. Max would pick some up later today.
After wake-up sex hadn't worked, Max tried wowing TJ with his advanced yoga techniques. Unfortunately,TJ was asleep and missed all the good stuff. Even after he'd woken up, Max was too worn out to put on a really good yoga show. So that was a bust as well.
At some point, Max had gone downstairs for coffee , thinking that he might try the only sure way to a man's heart, through his stomach. With a pitstop at TJ's penis. Only that had failed too. Max had even tried spiking TJ's coffee with an antihistamine that he'd brought along for his own sinus problems. But that failed when TJ thought the coffee tasted like Parmesan cheese and refused to drink it. Those NyQuil packets just didn't seem to fully dissolve in coffee. He'd have to remember that, for next time.
Max knew that his obsession with TJ was not the best thing for their friendship. But Max also knew that some very primitive spot in his brain would not rest until the dirty deed was done.
Ever since the two of them had met, the most basic elements of Max's brain considered TJ to be his destiny. Or at least his sexual destiny, whatever the heck that was.
The less primitive parts of Max's brain were tied up with other destinies, like quarks and quantum mechanics or captaining the astrophysics debate team at MIT.
His whole life Max had been told that he was the smartest guy anyone had ever met.
And as a result, Max had built his entire personality around being exactly the opposite of that. To avoid being the oddball smart guy way out at the end of the Bell curve, Max worked very hard at being a complete goofball. He reasoned that this would help him to fit right in with everyone else.
Whatever new quirk or strange trend was threading its way though American culture, Max embraced it. Out of everybody that Max knew, Max himself was the first guy to record his own unique version of "Call me maybe." Max put on Chinese drag and did his YouTube video of the Carly Rae Jepsen song completely in Mandarin, with both English and Bangladeshi subtitles to provide additional multi-linguistic appeal. Unfortunately, Max's unique Chinese version of the hit song didn't bring Max what he was looking for. It didn't get him laid. He did get quite a few strangely supportive e-mails from people in China, but as far as Max could tell, it was mostly teenage girls. Not exactly what Max had in mind.
Max was also the only guy in his high school to record himself doing the Jelly Belly challenge, only Max brought it to heights that other gross-out videographers had not. He collected every booger, barf, and skunk spray jelly bean that he could find at his local Wal-Mart and filmed himself filling his mouth to capacity. Max's taste buds were ruined as a result. And still, the video didn't get Max what he was seeking. That video had gone largely unseen. So, in deference to his poor abused taste buds, and in protest of the Jelly Belly challenge in general, Max had sworn off eating jelly beans of any type for the rest of his life. His decision was final.
Max had an insatiable appetite for clever repartee. He sprinkled his conversations with every funny joke or comeback he came across from books and from the internet. And while he could speak perfect English with impeccable grammar and punctuation, he pretended that he couldn't. Only his parents knew that Max had impeccable diction. Nobody else did. Max loved it when TJ corrected something that he said; it proved to him that TJ was paying attention to the words that came out of his mouth.
And Max also had an insatiable appetite for sex.
Being so intelligent and being so strange was not a great combination that appealed much to the guys Max lusted after. He had certainly had his fair share of sex since he had realized that he liked other boys, but it was definitely not as much as Max wanted. Or needed.
Much to his own amazement, Max had a boyfriend while he was in high school, and they actually had sex all the time. Max was in heaven! He even cut down temporarily on his quirkiness as a result. But then the guy had decided he was not gay after all and left Max the night before they were to make their big public debut at the senior prom.
When Max had arrived at MIT to start his freshman year, he thought that Boston might be the perfect solution to his problems. After all, Boston was widely known as a city teeming with super-smart college students. If Max was going to fit in, Boston was very likely to be the place. Plus the liberal legacy of New England, the multi-cultural student base, and the affinity for fitness and good health made MIT, and Cambridge in particular, just the ticket. Max would indeed find himself right in the middle of the pack and would fulfill all his destinies in college in Boston.
So meeting TJ while running along the Charles River was just part of the original fulfillment of Max's grand plan. Max's sexual destiny. Max had thought the issue through totally, and TJ was the complete package for Max. It would be at least 2300 years before another boy would come along that had the same combination of characteristics that TJ had.
TJ was a college boy. Check.
TJ was certainly very easy on the eyes. Max's eyes, at least. Check.
TJ was gay, and not likely to go back to women like poor Max's high school boyfriend had. Check.
TJ apparently had a large penis, somewhere in the neighborhood of eight inches. While not a critical feature of Max's grand plan, this was also a check.
TJ was broke. Max was not. Check. If both of them were rich, that wouldn't be right.
Instead of long walks on the beach, TJ liked to take long runs by the river. He was on his college track team. He seemed to understood Max's oddball personality, and even seemed to enjoy spending time with Max! Check, check, check.
And perhaps best of all, TJ was honest and trusting. A guy who you'd want to fuck over and over and over again. That was great husband material! So, when he added it all up. TJ was pretty much a checkmate!
So TJ fit just right into Max's plan for his future.
But there was one problem. TJ was not cooperating.
They had known one another since the beginning of the school year and TJ had not agreed to sleep with Max even one time.
TJ was nice to hang out with. It was nice to go for a long run with him. It was nice to have long, purposeful conversations about the great topics of the day with TJ. But Max wanted more.
And, as the smartest guy in the room, raised with all the money he needed, Max was used to getting what he wanted.
And he wanted TJ.
All day Saturday, while TJ and his friend David Leeman from Oregon were busy looking for Danny Leeman with help of the New Haven police department, Max walked the streets of New Haven and cruised the bathroom stalls at Yale. He had a lot on his mind and he needed a lot of time to think. A toilet was a good a place as any.
How had everything gotten so fucked up?
Max had conceived his elaborate plan to bed TJ weeks ago, right after TJ told Max that he'd been invited to run in the invitational track meet at Yale.
Only things had gone terribly wrong.
First TJ didn't qualify for finals on Sunday. So Max had to make an adjustment even after his scheme had already begun. That was inconvenient, but totally manageable. Plan B then.
Then Max had gotten that phone call from TJ after he had returned to Boston from New Haven. That was a huge surprise for Max and more than a little inconvenient.
Danny Leeman kidnapped?
What the fuck?
And now TJ wants to talk about it with his buddy Max?
Max had to really hustle his ass to get to the Indian restaurant that TJ liked and wanted to meet him at in Central Square.
What a mess!
So Plan B had been unsuccessful as well. Unfortunately he had no more backup ideas. There was only....
But, Max was resourceful. Even as he was walking up to the restaurant to meet TJ for lunch, Max was putting the finer points of a new revised idea together.
Max thought to himself about poor Danny Leeman! The guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, unfortunately, it looked like things were going to have to stay exactly as they were for Danny just a little bit longer. Max was not ready to give up on his grandest scheme of all.
So today was Saturday. Action Day for Plan C. All of this creative non-mathematical thinking had given Max a headache. He needed someone to rub his scalp.
Max left the bathroom stall where he'd been loitering and went outside. Max pecked away at his phone.
He was somewhere on campus at Yale right now, it was hard to say where exactly. It was really quite beautiful as major universities go. But Max had no time to enjoy the Gothic architecture. He was deep in thought, like in a chess match, planning ten to twelve moves ahead.
He had already dialed the same number eight times today and it had gone straight to voice mail each time.
"Come on, come on! Answer already, you moron!" Max shouted in frustration.
It rang four times. Max was beside himself by now. He was nearly ready to just give up entirely on his plan. The guy could deal with the fall-out all by himself. He pulled the phone away from his ear, planning to chuck his phone into the wall of an old ivy covered wall of a building.
But Max was already mumbling again and he didn't hear the man finally pick up Max's call.
"Idiot!" Max shouted.
Then he flung his phone down onto the grass near his feet.
"This is so stupid I can't believe it!" Max yelled.
Several students looked in Max's direction, but apparently his behavior wasn't so unusual that anyone really paid him any attention.
"Max? Is that you? Where are you?"
Max kept walking along the path, oblivious to the tiny voice inside his phone. He put his hands through his hair and pulled his hair straight up.
"All this work! All this effort! For nothing!"
"Max, are you okay?"
"Aaaaaahhh!" Max shouted into his palms. He fell to his knees.
A sudden quiet fell over the dozen or so students walking or sitting on the grass. People did a lot of goofy things at Yale, but a scream like the one Max had just made, even a muted one, deserved at least a pause in their routines.
Max quickly realized how quiet his surroundings had become. He removed his hands from his face and saw that he was the reason that people were quiet. Everyone was looking at him to see what he might do next. He turned red with embarrassment.
The conversations resumed. People walking resumed their pace.
"Sorry," Max said sheepishly.
He gave a couple of guys playing Frisbee a casual wave.
"I'm okay," he said.
Some one smiled at him. She probably thought he had just flunked an exam, or gotten dumped by a jealous lover.
"No worries," Max added lamely to the girl who smiled. "I'm okay. Just go about your business, really I'll be just fine."
In a few more seconds, he was alone again. Nobody was looking at him any longer.
"Yes fucking indeed," he said under his breath. "I'll be just fucking great! Just great!"
"Uh, excuse me, sir?"
The voice came from behind him. It was a young boy, a child. He was standing there with Max's phone in his hand, his arm outstretched toward Max.
"I think you might have dropped your phone."
Max sighed and looked painfully at the innocent young boy who was doing a good deed by returning this strangely dressed man's phone.
"Uh, yes I did. Thank you very much," Max said to the boy. He managed a smile, hoping it seemed genuine.
The boy handed Max his phone. Max wiped away a tear from his face with one hand and accepted the phone from the boy with the other.
Then the boy turned to walk away. Max bowed deeply, but the boy was already headed off and didn't see Max's attempt at a grand gesture of gratitude. The boy stopped.
"Yes?" Max smiled.
"There was somebody speaking when I picked it up. I just thought you'd want to know. But they hung up."
Max's eyes brightened. He stepped toward the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Who was it? Who was speaking?" Max said loudly, practically a shout.
The boy flinched and pulled his shoulder away. Some adult, probably the boy's parent took several steps toward them as soon as Max lay his hand on the boy.
"I don't know. I'm sorry sir."
"Who was it you numbskull?" Max shouted. "Can't you tell if it was a male or female? Didn't you listen?"
The boy's parent was upon them now. The boy's father pulled his son away, Max's grip on the lad less forceful than the father's.
"Don't touch my son, you creep!"
The father moved his son behind him and stepped back.
Max stared at the two of them. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to him.
"He was just returning your phone!" the father said. "How dare you lay a hand on him?"
"I, I, I'm..."
The father had turned and gone now in the opposite direction. Max was speechless as he watched them go.
"Touch him again and I'll call the New Haven Police Department," the father yelled back at Max as he hustled his son along.
Max had to smile faintly at that remark.
He stared after them as they walked away, shocked at his own behavior, but faintly amused by the irony of the father's final parting words. Max looked down at his phone, willing it to ring, willing it to be the person he had been calling and calling all day.
No calls came.
When the father and son had reached a safe distance away from Max, he saw the young boy raise the middle finger of his right hand and awkwardly flip Max off.
"Yeah, fuck me," Max whispered to himself. "Don't I wish?"
Half asleep, the buzzing from outside Danny's door jolted him awake.
That was a new sound that he hadn't heard before. He strained his ears to understand what it might mean.
There was a little bit of muted rustling outside, Danny had come to realize that he knew when his captor was in the house; lots of muted rustling. He just couldn't tell what the guy was doing exactly.
Inside his prison, Danny's endless porno video continued to cycle. The volume was off. Danny had begged the man to do that. It took a lot of pleading from Danny, but finally the man had complied. Mercifully, Danny didn't have to listen to Colt screwing every guy in the film. Now he only had to watch. Somehow that made Colt more tolerable.
The buzzing sounded again. Was it a doorbell? An intercom?
Still Danny heard nothing else from outside that made any sense. If it was a doorbell, why didn't his captor answer it?
Well, actually Danny knew why.
Maybe it was the police! Somebody had found him!
But would the police buzz first? Wouldn't they just blow the door down with a shoulder or something?
The buzz again. Followed by absolute silence.
If it was the doorbell, the man was not answering it.
So maybe it wasn't the police. Maybe just a pizza delivery. Danny's mouth began to water. He was hungry. His captor gave him food, but Danny could certainly use more. He was losing weight.
Colt pulled his dick out of the ass he was fucking on screen and came in long streaky jets onto the back of the boy. Danny had watched this scene dozens of times by now and knew the exact shape of Colts semen puddles. Danny also knew that they had filmed this particular orgasm scene more than once. As the camera panned over, a visual designed to prove how virile and filled with cum the hero Colt was, the semen puddles changed.
"Aha!" Danny had shouted at the screen when he had made this particular discovery.
Danny wondered if the puddles even belonged to Colt at all.
Maybe it was cum from somebody else on the set because Colt had been too tired to get off again. Poor baby. Or maybe it wasn't cum at all. But what else looked like cum? Milk? Glue? Yogurt? It would have to be plain.
Danny hoped it wasn't yogurt. He'd been eating a lot of that since he'd been tied up in this room. And he just wanted it to be what is supposed to be. Colt's spooge.
Outside Danny's bedroom, Tommy watched his friend drive away. He hated to involve him in this whole mess, but he knew that Brian would keep his mouth shut. Originally, he had told Brian to leave the handcuffs on his car, but when he decided to move his car to as to improve his alibi, he'd had to call Brian directly and say that he should leave the cuffs in his mailbox and not the car.
Which Brian did.
When Brian's car was out of sight, Tommy went down stairs to retrieve the cuffs. Brian had left them in his mailbox. They were in a plastic bag from Stop 'N Shop. That little piece of irony made Tommy smile.
Back inside his apartment, Tommy began to get dressed in his police uniform. For what he needed to do this evening, he needed to look like a real police officer.
Before Tommy got dressed, he figured he would check on Danny.
One final time before this whole thing was all over.
He looked around for his mask but couldn't locate it. All he had on was his white tank and his Calvin boxer briefs.
He didn't mind walking in to his bedroom in his underwear, it was probably exactly what Danny was hoping for anyway, but if his plan was going to work, he needed something over his head so that Danny couldn't identify him later. By his face at least. He had been very careful so far, and with the end of this whole thing so close, no use taking chances now.
Shit! Where was his mask?
He checked his watch. He had wanted to be over at the Stop 'N Shop in about 40 minutes. If he was going to be on time to catch the change of shift, he would have to hustle up.
He was nervous. He had never done anything like this before. A very straight laced life so far, he should never have gotten himself into this situation. He inhaled deeply a few times! Maybe that would chill him out. Okay think, where did you last see the mask?
Tommy looked around his kitchen. That was dumb, why would he have left it there? The living room? Nope? The closet by the door? No luck.
His car maybe?
He remembered tossing the mask into his back pack and sticking it into his trunk. And now his car was over by the yacht club all the way across town. The yacht club was his alibi. He had gone for a long swim, which was the message he was planning on leaving on Brian's voice mail. That was why he wasn't home when Brian dropped the cuffs off. That was believable. He went for swims in his wetsuit all the time from right next to the yacht club.
And now he had no mask. He would have to check on Danny without it. Dammit!
So a bathroom towel was out. Those were in the bathroom, he couldn't get to any of his towels without Danny seeing him. His kitchen towels were too small. He could toss his police uniform over his face, but that was too risky. Danny was smart, he'd figure out that Tommy was a cop.
Tommy shook his head. What a mess! He could jump on his bike, in his police uniform, and head downtown and just buy something. But that would waste valuable time. And he needed to be at the store for change of shift.
One final thought occurred to him.
He could put his Calvin Kleins on his head. That would work, but that would mean he had nothing on below the waist.
Danny would see his dick.
At least one of them would be happy with that.
Tommy slid his briefs down his legs and stood in his living room in just his t-shirt. His dick was uncircumcised, and hung limply between his legs. Tommy knew his dick always got scrunched up when he wore tight underwear, elongating the instant it was free. It was a thing that had been commented on many times by guys at the gym, straight and gay. As soon as he took off his gym clothes and before he headed into the shower, he was small. But after his shower, even if Tommy barely touched himself at all while he washed up, he emerged from the shower much different. Tommy's before and after pictures: first Clark Kent, then Superman. Tommy had no idea why this happened, but it didn't feel like anything he should complain about.
He looked at his own underwear and shook his head. Which side should go over his face? The front or the back?
He decided on the front.
Okay, here goes nothing. Tommy put his underwear over his head, then slid himself into one leg. He wanted to check himself in the mirror to see if his face was detectable, but he couldn't see anything.
He probably looked ridiculous but this would have to do.
Carefully, so as not to make things a whole lot worse than they were going to be soon, Tommy used his fingers to feel for his own penis.
That was good, for the time being.
Big Tommy had not come out to play. Yet.
He walked over and opened the door to his bedroom, well actually to Danny's bedroom.
Danny's eyes were glued on the man entering his room.
Tommy was taking small steps, he couldn't see anything at all through the black cotton and Lycra covering his face.
"Is it my birthday? Are you my present amigo?"
"Shut up Danny," Tommy said.
"Nice fucking arms man!" Danny said with a whistle. Tommy realized that Danny was probably commenting on his flame tattoos. Or not. He did have great arms, that much was true.
"I have to go out," Tommy said, his mouth full of underwear. "I just wanted to see if there's anything you needed right now."
Danny wiggled his wrists in the handcuffs.
"I need my arms back amigo? How about that, eh?"
Tommy shook his head. The free leg of his boxer briefs flopped around by his left ear. "Nope. Can't do that. Anything else?"
Danny looked at Tommy's penis. Exactly what Tommy thought would happen after he'd had his underwear off for a while was already happening. Danny's keen eye sensed that something was up.
"Well, since your Johnson seems very happy to see me, I'll just take that. Bring it on over here amigo."
"No? What are you holding out for? You know you want it. I can see your dick getting bigger since you walked into my man cave here."
"Come on dude. One quick blow job! I am a master, trust me!"
"Shut up Danny. You're not sucking my dick."
"Then you can suck mine. I'm a little horned out here. Been watching my buddy Colt make man-meat out of all these thinks for days now. My balls are absolutely packed with cum! It won't take you long at all."
Danny thrust his hips forward several times. To his amazement, his captor's cock got a little bit longer. Danny smiled, enjoying his private show.
"Please!" Danny pleaded.
Danny was confused. The man's dick was saying one thing while the voice under the underwear was saying something else.
"Well, that's good I guess, not now is good. That doesn't mean never," Danny said.
"Can I empty your bottle?" Tommy asked.
Danny looked down at the milk bottle he was supposed to pee in. It was empty.
"Nope. Looks like I'm good."
Despite himself, Danny smiled.
"How about an apple or something?" Tommy asked. "Maybe a banana? They are pretty good."
"Are you serious? You come in here with your underwear over your face and offer me a banana?"
"This is a bad, fucking joke, right?" Danny went on. "Your uncut dick is growing bigger before my eyes. I offer to suck you dry, and you offer me a banana?"
"Do you want one or not?"
"No, dude!" Danny yelled. "What I want is for you to explain to me what the fuck is going on! Take these goddamned cuffs off me! And let me go!"
"I can't. But soon. "
"Why the fuck not?"
"Danny, just chill okay," Tommy said. "And keep your voice down or I'll have to put something over your mouth again. Just like before."
"I am fucking chill, amigo! Look at me! I couldn't be any more fucking chill!"
Danny rattled the chains holding his arms and his legs to the bed.
"I'm fucking sick of this. I want out!"
Danny struggled against his bonds with every ounce of strength he had left. His face was beet red. The cuffs cut into his wrists and ankles. He was breathless from the exertion. Tommy stood still and did nothing. He couldn't really see too well anyhow.
"Danny, calm down please. Those cuffs will cut into your skin," Tommy said.
"I don't care! I want out! I want to go home. I want to see my family!"
Tears streamed down Danny's face.
"Not now, Danny. Soon."
"FUCK!" Danny screamed, at the top of his lungs.
Tommy took a few steps toward the bed, being careful not to let his cock make contact with any part of Danny's body. That would make things even more complicated than they already were.
"When are you going to let me go?" Danny sobbed.
"Soon, I said. Do you want the banana or don't you?"
Danny tried his best to relax. He inhaled and exhaled a few times. Tommy left the room for a minute and returned with a ripe banana. Tommy's cock swung like a pendulum clock as he approached Danny's bed. Tommy unpeeled the top of the banana.
Calmer now, Danny's eyes were fixated on Tommy's cock. The sucking of uncut cocks was one of Danny's specialties, and Tommy had a fine specimen.
Tommy held out the banana for Danny. He took a bite.
"You know, you should really let me take care of that for you," Danny said with his mouth full.
"You're probably right, Danny. I'll bet you give great head. But not right now, I need to be someplace."
"Aww, come on! I haven't seen a naked guy in person in over a week now. Just Colt, Colt, Colt! 24-7. This is not healthy for me."
Tommy lowered the peel and put more banana into Danny's mouth. "Eat some more," Tommy said, happy that Danny was calming down.
"You're right. That is a good one," Danny said, again with his mouth full.
"When will you be back?" Danny asked. "I don't know how long this is gonna hold me."
Tommy unpeeled the rest of the banana and fed it to Danny. By accident, his penis brushed Danny's foot as he began to talk away. Danny noticed and glared longingly at Tommy's dick.
"Later, but not too late," Tommy said.
"Good. My offer still stands," Danny said, licking Tommy from head to toe inside his mind.
"Thanks," Tommy responded. "Very considerate of you."
Tommy backed away from the bed and turned to exit the bedroom.
"So tell me the truth amigo. Why exactly did you come in here without any pants on? Wagging your weenie in my face?"
Tommy didn't know the answer. He said nothing, but he smiled to himself underneath his underwear mask.
"So, maybe when I come back, I will bring you a hot dog or something, okay?" Tommy taunted him.
"A hot dog? Seriously? You fuck!"
Tommy laughed and closed the door behind him.
Danny swallowed his bite of banana and stared at Colt fucking the day lights out of somebody on his video. Danny's dick was rock hard.
As Tommy exited his own bedroom, leaving Danny behind, Tommy hoped this would all be over soon. It hadn't been his idea in the first place and he just wanted to put things right and move on with his life.
It was the 'put things right' part that Tommy needed to attend to this evening.
He took his underwear off of his head and slipped them back on where they were supposed to be. He was aware that his cock was longer than usual, even for him. He was also aware of the electricity that had coursed through him when his cock accidentally brushed Danny's foot.
He would think about that tomorrow.
Tommy finished putting on the rest of his police uniform. When he was done, he fished the handcuffs out of the bad that Brian had brought over and attached them to his belt. Then he readjusted his pants, ensuring that the tenting of his pants wasn't too obvious.
He looked like a respectable cop, he thought to himself.
Pulling off another ripe banana from the bunch for himself, he peeled back the skin for the second time in five minutes. This one went into his own mouth however.
Then he quietly left the condo.
Initially, Tommy was surprised to see that his car was not in its usual spot out front. Then he remembered why. He made his way to Stop 'N Shop, just a member of New Haven's finest out on evening patrol.
When he arrived, shift change was already underway. He was not too late.
Tommy entered the store, nodded to the cashiers and store clerks who were helping customers up front, and walked directly to the back row of the store. The flimsy plastic door just to the left of the meat department was the entrance to the store manager's office, just up the stairs. He saw two people talking inside.
Tommy rapped his knuckles on the metal door to alert them of his presence.
"Evening folks," Tommy said in his friendly police man voice. "Officer McKeon from New Haven Police. I called earlier and said I'd be stopping by. I need to pick up a copy of that video from the night of the assault on Danny Leeman."
Jeremy M made it to his massage with less than a minute to spare.
He didn't know this section of town near Northeastern University very well. He'd been a few times already, usually on his bike. But since he was going to get picked up by Paolo, tonight he was on foot and didn't recognize the landmarks from the sidewalks. All things considered, he made only two wrong turns. Not bad for downtown Boston, where even the cabbies got pretty lost
The massage guy's tiny apartment was a classic Back Bay brownstone within sight of the Berklee College of Music.
Jeremy M buzzed from the front and was allowed entry without any words being spoken.
At the top of the stairs, the front door was open a crack. Jeremy M knocked lightly and let himself in.
"Hallo?" Jeremy M called out, unsure if he should proceed beyond the doorway.
"Be right with you," a voice sang out from someplace not too far away.
Jeremy M put down his backpack, freshly stuffed with what few clean clothes he had around. He ran his fingers through his dark red hair and untucked his shirt from the back and side of his pants, leaving the front just behind his belt buckle. He notched a thumb behind his buckle and took a deep breath.
These were always weird moments for Jeremy M.
'Hi, I'm here for the massage I called you about, but I'm mostly looking forward to you fucking me at the end.'
And I'm a good tipper.
Keith the massage guy came around the corner just then he had on a black jock strap.
"Welcome back Jeremy! It is so great to see you again!" he said in a low voice that surprised Jeremy M.
He gave Jeremy a casual hug on the shoulders, which made Jeremy M blush.
Despite the soft light they were standing in, Keith noticed and smiled broadly. He kissed Jeremy lightly on the cheek, allowing his lips to brush across the corner of Jeremy's mouth. Then he took Jeremy M gently by the shoulder and led him back toward a candle lit room. There was a massage table in the center of the room, draped with a white sheet. There was a white wash cloth folded into a tiny triangle in the middle of the sheet, tented up so that it could Be seen against the sheet. The room smelled mildly like cucumber.
Jeremy M's dick gave a jolt as the memory of his most recent visit washed over him. After a couple minutes of pointless back rubbing, the two of them had so wanted to get down to business that there had been no massage at all on that particular day. Keith was more heavily endowed than Jeremy M's average partner, and he had been successful at finding a spot, deep within Jeremy M's ass that caused him to come immediately. Both times that day.
Keith's hand was on Jeremy M's belt buckle now, his fingers resting strategically about a half inch below the waistband.
"Can I get you anything before we start? Water? Tea? Would you like to use the restroom?"
Jeremy M's stomach grumbled.
He was still a little dry from his ride and he still hadn't eaten.
"Nope, I'm all set," Jeremy M blushed again. He wondered what his parents would think of how he was spending his college money. But think of what he was saving on his food bill!
Keith tugged lightly at Jeremy's belt buckle and his body moved closer to Keith's.
"Okay then, what would you like me to work on this evening?"
Keith's hands drew Jeremy's head toward his own. On reflex, Jeremy M closed his eyes and opened his lips. Keith's tongue found Jeremy's, forcing his way inside with a tiny thrust.
Jeremy M moaned involuntarily. In that brief moment, Keith removed his belt and let it drop at their feet.
"Or if you prefer, I can use my hands and the rest of my body to explore every part of your side tidy which areas are I. End of the most attention."
Keith's mouth encircled Jeremy's now, his palm on Jeremy M's back, forcing them closer.
Jeremy M kissed back now, allowing Keith to withdraw, the dance of the tongues, their lips, their breathing perfectly synchronized. Jeremy M moaned again as Keith's fingers massaged the lightly haired region just above the base of Jeremy M's cock. He kicked off his shoes and flipped the, aside. Since he was now shorter than Keith, Jeremy M stood on his tiptoes. Keith's thumb and index finger circled the base of his cock. Jeremy M grew larger and Keith had to open his fingers to keep them in the same place.
"Nice," Keith whispered. "Shall we get you out of these clothes?"
Jeremy M reached his own hands under the black waistband of Keith's jock. He nodded a yes. Keith reached for a switch to dim the lights without losing grip of Jeremy's dick. Ten seconds later, Jeremy M was naked, his clothes in a heap at his feet. Keith arched backward to look Jeremy M over. A fine layer of sweat lay in the center of his chest, glistening in the candle light of the room. Keith rubbed a finger across Jeremy's chest from one hairless nipple to the other. Keith placed the finger inside Jeremy's lips and smiled. Jeremy licked his lips, tasting his own sweat. They both looked down at Jeremy's hard on at the same moment. Keith released his grip on the base and stoked the fat cock all the way to its tip. Jeremy M shuddered at this, but Keith calmed him y moving his body closer and placing a finger between his butt cheeks, Keith's talented fingertips found Jeremy's butthole and pressed around the circle. A droplet of pre-cum oozed from the tip and Keith made good use of this too, rubbing it around the glans of Jeremy's penis.
Jeremy M smiled and tried to remove Keith's jock strap, but Keith held it firmly with one hand. Apparently there would be time for that soon enough. With careful movements of his tongue inside of Jeremy's mouth, Keith glided Jeremy M over to the massage table. Keith removed the tiny little wash cloth that had been placed for his more modest clients. He lay Jeremy M onto his front side, his face in the soft cradle at the top of the table. Jeremy M adjusted his own wiener, pointed it toward the left side, which seemed to fit better.
Keith's hands rubbed oil into Jeremy's back from the tips of his shoulders to the crack of his ass. A few knots in Jeremy's shoulder blades, Keith removed expertly.
When he got to Jeremy's butt, Keith remembered how this had previously driven hi wild so he lightened up his touch. He wanted Jeremy M to enjoy himself fully tonight. Soon enough, Keith would have his own cock inside of Jeremy M.
Maybe he could get the boy to cum three times tonight, that ought to be worth a hefty tip.
Once he was satisfied with the work he all he had achieved in loosening up his butt muscles, Keith set his left ankle across the back of his knee. One of Keith's favorite positions, this allowed him unrestricted access to the dick and balls of his clients. And he didn't do this for them all.
Jeremy M moaned softly as Keith's hands stroked his inner thighs, allowing the tips of his fingers to brush Jeremy's dick lightly without taking hold of it outright. Jeremy M leaked more pre-cum from the head of his dick and Keith could feel it on the back of his wrist. While one hand kept up this continuous motion on Jeremy's thigh, the other hand found his ass again. Keith place his thumb against the pucker of Jeremy's ass and pressed, allowing his fingers to tickle his nut sack. Jeremy's moans increased in volume. Ever so slowly, he increased the pressure of his thumb. Gradually it disappeared inside, all the way to the knuckle. Jeremy M moved his hips rhythmically with the stokes of Keith's hand on his inner thigh. His heart raced.
When Jeremy M could take no more, Keith paused. With a twist, Keith removed his thumb from Jeremy's asshole and rubbed the moist fluid onto the underside of Jeremy's balls.
He had Jeremy M put his left leg back onto the massage table, and softly placed his right leg into the same reverse stretch. behind his knee. Jeremy M lifted his hips up in anticipation of what was to come. Teasingly, Keith let him wait before plunging his thumb inside of Jeremy M again.
By the time Keith had finished the backside of Jeremy's legs, he had cum on the table without anyone touching his cock. Keith had Jeremy M flip over, noting happily that his erection had not gone away; Jeremy's dick thrust upward toward his belly button, as thick and stiff as Keith had ever seen it. Keith let Jeremy M feel his own hardness, behind the fabric of his jock. Not all his clients turned him on like this, but he got a boner every time with Jeremy M.
After a few minutes of gently rubbing out Jeremy's arms, legs, and the front of his chest, Keith got up onto the table and stretched Jeremy's glutes one at a time, pushing the cup of his jock against Jeremy's ass. As he removed his jock and placed it on Jeremy's shoulder, Keith noticed a river of pre-cum on Jeremy's lower abs.
The pre-cum told Keith all he needed to know. Jeremy M was ready to go again.
Keith positioned himself symmetrically between Jeremy's thighs, his own erect cock dangling just over Jeremy's butthole. He grabbed Jeremy's small feet with one hand each and rubbed them firmly as he penetrated Jeremy's hole effortlessly.
Jeremy M moaned loudly now, his ass filled with cock. This time Keith used a dab of massage oil on the head of Jeremy's dick, rubbing it to the same beat he fucked him with.
They came together, their screams muted by their lips locked together.
While he dressed, Jeremy M knew what he smelled like. He would be riding the two to three hours with Paolo in a small car, he wondered how his scent would drive Paolo crazy.
He had cum four times today. A pretty good Saturday, all things considered. But tomorrow was a new day. A new day to ride Paolo's epic penis. With Donnie still in P'town and Paolo alone, could Jeremy M set a new personal record on Sunday?
He hoped so.
If not, there was always Monday back at school in Boston. And maybe TJ.