Me in Wood

He must have heard my moaning, as he appeared at my bedroom door, naked, muscular, stocky, hirsute, ruggedly handsome, ebony black, and leaning into the doorframe, watching me working myself with the wooden dildo. He had told me his name last night, at the gay club, but I hadn’t remembered it. I couldn’t even remember the name of the club now, or how I had wound up there, except that I had an itch. Since a hunk was standing, naked, in the doorway of my bedroom, I supposed I had gotten my itch scratched. It was a bit disconcerting, though. I usually didn’t take the chance of bringing guys home. I must really have been four sheets to the wind.

I did remember that he said he was a construction worker. I was a professor at the nearby university—sociology—and a good ten years older than his early twenties. But that didn’t matter. He was hung and rough, and there were occasions I couldn’t take the refinement of the university or university men anymore and I wanted rough and casual. I thought of him as Dick, because he certainly had one. He’d spent the night with and in me. That much I remembered just fine.

I lay there, on my back, legs bent and spread, watching myself in the mirrored wall across from the foot of the bed, pushing my pelvis up to get a good look in the mirror of the wooden dildo, in the shape of a cock, with the balls as a hand grip, working in my passage. I was stroking my cock with the other hand. Dick had been good to me in the night, but I wanted to retain my high. I came back to my bedroom to be good to myself while he finished his breakfast and coffee out at the kitchen island.

And I was being good to myself—with myself. I was being a slut to do this in front of him, but I didn’t care. The dildo was thick and long, ebony wood hard. It had been carved with my own cock and balls as the model. I was hung too—not quite as hung as Dick was, but close. I was being good to myself with myself.

“Here, let me help with that,” Dick said. He put his coffee cup down on the top of my bureau, causing me initially to hope it wouldn’t leave a ring on the surface but then castigating myself. That’s the sort of “professorish” thinking I was trying to escape from if only for a night and what was left of this morning.

He climbed up on the bed, kneeling beside my legs, and turning me over on my stomach. He was in magnificent erection, so I knew how this was going to end and I already was panting for it. He raised my right leg so that it was streaming up his muscular chest and wrapped his left arm under my chest. I was pinned to him now, fully under his control, the stretched position almost painful, and not going anywhere. Taking the wooden dildo from me, gripping his right hand around the figure’s balls, he began churning it inside my passage, pulling it nearly all of the way out, then screwing it in and churning it about inside me. He moved a forearm across my throat, pinning my head to the mattress, and went back to working the dildo in my passage.

I writhed under the black hunk, groaning and whimpering, and stroking my cock with my hand. He was relentless in working the dildo inside me, taking me to the heights and to and over the limit. With a cry of completion, I released cum into the sheets.

I was complete. Dick wasn’t. He pulled the dildo out of me, rolled over between my legs, kneeling there and, with a strong arm under me, lifting my pelvis up to his groin, my chest pressed into the surface of the bed. He penetrated me strongly and deeply to a depth and thickness that made me stretch a bit to accommodate him despite having been well worked with the dildo, and he fucked me hard and fast to his own ejaculation. If I hadn’t been prepared by the dildo and he’d thrust in me like that, I’m sure my channel would have split.

He had been just as rough with me the previous night. I loved it as much now as I had then.

He barebacked me and the flesh-on-flesh action and the feel of his release—tensing and jerking repeatedly in a rolling coming—was exhilarating. I only allowed myself to worry about that—being fucked raw—for a couple of seconds. It was done, caused by the heat of the moment, and that was that—or so I could hope.

We lay there, me cradled in his arms, him holding and turning the wooden dildo this way and that above our still slightly panting bodies. I had a hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it, hoping for another fuck.

“This is a lovely piece of art,” he murmured.

“Yes, yes, it is,” I answered.

“So lifelike.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Jamaica. On a cruise.”

“My family is from Jamaica.”

“Are they?”

“It’s a big one.”

“Not as big as yours is—not as big as you are again.”

“Again?” he queried, smiling down into my face. “You want it again?”

“Yes, please. You’re still hard.”

He rolled over on top of and slid inside me. I turned my head to the side, catching our image in the mirror over the bureau, and clutched his buttocks to me with my hands as he fucked me again. I arched my back and neck, focusing on the ceiling of the room; opened my eyes wide; and let my jaw go slack—only to feel his thumb invade my mouth to be sucked—as he glided his way deep into my core. His shaft began to move inside me—in and out, in and out—and my hips settled into going with his motion. We were back into a primordial fuck.

* * * *

Months Earlier

I couldn’t wait to get off the cruise ship and away from the partying passengers when we anchored off Kingston, Jamaica, for a day of land excursions. Not that I hadn’t done my own partying, mainly with a hunky black room attendant who provided full servicing of my cabin—and of me. His time off from his shipboard duties on our Southern Caribbean cruise from Miami was from 3:00 to 5:00 in the afternoons, and while most other passengers were getting loaded up with booze before dinner in anticipation of a boozy party that evening, Loritz had me bent over my bed in my cabin, his big, black hands gripping my hips, his big black cock inside me, and doggie fucking me, a position he showed that he loved and that I had acquired a taste for too, thanks to him. Loritz was a tall, thin, gaunt man, but there wasn’t anything thin about his cock. He made more on each three-to-five session in my cabin than he made in tips from any of the other cabins he serviced, I’m sure.

“Where does one go in Kingston in the time I’ll have off the ship to avoid any of the other passengers on this ship, Loritz?” I asked as we were docking in Kingston.

“You mean the section of town where you can fuck around?” he asked, with a laugh.

“Yes, that,” I answered.

He told me, but he also warned me that Jamaica was the most homophobic country in the Caribbean and I should be very, very careful.

“Everything that is man on man is underground in Jamaica,” Loritz said. “What you want is in Gordon Town, northwest of the city, and what you really want is someone with a car to take you there. I have a friend who will do it. It will cost you more than the usual guide, but he will stay with you the whole time and will keep you safe—if you want to be safe, at least from him. He’ll take good care of you too if that’s what you want. His name is Adio. If you want, I will phone him and set it up. His taxi is blue. He can meet you on the wharf. He knows when we sail and will get you back on time.”

“I want,” I said.

* * * *

Adio turned out to be a large—a very large—ebony man of body-builder proportions, with a gigantic smile, wearing cut-off jeans shorts and a red athletic T-shirt that emphasized the massiveness of his guns and his thighs. I found him, arms crossed, and leaning on a nondescript small, blue sedan that must date back to the fifties. Passengers disembarking from the cruise ship on the wharf to explore Kingston let their eyes linger on him as they passed, whether because of the smile, the handsome face, the dreadlocks, or the muscles I didn’t know, but it was obvious that the middle-aged, cougar-type passengers would also have liked to ride with and on him.

He had his eyes on me, though, as I came down the gangway. I presume that Loritz had not only told him what I would like to do in Jamaica and what I would like to avoid, but also what I looked like. I knew I must presume that Loritz had told him what I would do with a man too, and, if Adio was inclined in that direction, which Loritz hinted he was, I knew how I would like to spend part of the afternoon I had off the ship. Of course, Loritz’s warning to me about the Jamaican attitude—at least on the surface—was something I would keep in mind, and I’d do what I could to cool my jets. It was enough to be off the ship and away from the ugly American partygoers. I’d taken this trip because it stopped in Key West, and that’s where I was going to leave the ship and start the sort of vacation I really was after.

We shook hands at the car, Adio lazily straightening up from his backward incline against the fender that had jutted his basket out in a way, which itself had made the cougars passing him twitter to each other, and slowly straightening up to his in-excess-of-six-feet height. He languidly extended his beefy mitt to me and then, when I took the hand in mine, folded his thumb under and rubbed my palm during the handshake. Nothing to question about that—it was a universal signal of a submissive-seeking top. I ended the handshake by wrapping my fingers around the thumb just long enough for him to know that he quite probably could fuck me if we hit it off well enough while on this tour.

“What would you like to see for the first part of your tour?” he asked in a deep, melodious voice. Just like that, he was establishing that the second part of the tour might get very intimate.

“Did Loritz tell you anything of what I liked, what I did?” I asked.

“Yes, Loritz told me quite explicitly what you did and liked—and paid well for. I’m at your full service this afternoon. He also told me you’d like to see some of the lifestyle of the island that is difficult to see because of attitudes here. He told me I should take you to Gordon Town, which is northeast of here, near our mountains. Is that what you would like to do? And then maybe up to Irish Town, which is our version of a red-light district, although the light is only out for men seeking women. I have a room of my own there, though, and it doesn’t have to be just what is advertised there.”

“Yes, I’d like to see this Gordon Town. And I should buy some handicrafts if they have shops for those there. I should help the local economy, and I do collect wooden objects. I understand Jamaica specializes in wood carvings.”

“I have a good idea what you can spend money on to help the local economy, Mon,” Adio said, with a rich-toned laugh. “And, yes, they have special wood carving shops in that town. Maybe you would like to walk around on your own there for a while. We can start with having a drink at a friendly place and I can point out some shops you may want to visit and can wait for you at the café, building up my strength.” He grinned at me, leaving little doubt what he’d be building up strength to do—and how I might spend my money to help the local economy—but he looked robust enough not to need much rest before taking me on.

“Shall we go?” he asked, still smiling broadly, giving a little bow and gesturing toward the sad little blue sedan.

“Yes, lead on,” I said, moving to the front passenger door.

“You may wish to sit in back,” he said. “If you are in front with me, I may not be able to contain myself.”

“I’ll chance it,” I said, opening the front passenger door and sliding into a seat so worn that I fancied I almost could feel the springs through the padding. He got in the other side, but he didn’t start the car. He twisted toward me and reached down and grabbed my crotch. I yelped in surprise and quickly scanned the area around the car. No one was looking at us. They all had their sights on the customs shed giving entrance into the town.

“Relax. I’m just checking,” he said. “Loritz sometimes exaggerates. And I did say you might not like to chance sitting up here.” He grinned. I couldn’t help smiling too. “Let me feel you good,” he said. “I don’t want to have to wonder as I drive. If you are going to let me fuck you, surrender to me now.”

I reclined back into the seat and spread my legs as far as the car compartment would permit, arcing my head back onto the top of the seat, while he continued to feel me up and I went hard for him. I scooted my buttocks a bit forward in the seat and parted my thighs, putting the heel on one foot up on the corner of the dashboard and draping the other across his lap, surrendering totally to him. He took his time, unzipping and releasing me, and slow stroking me to an ejaculation, which he covered with a handkerchief to take the cum. While he pumped me, he held my eyes in his gaze, giving me a half amused, half lustful, all “in control” look. I lay there, open to him, rocking my pelvis up into his hand, and moaned.

“You pay me, but in sex I am master and you are slave,” he murmured.

“Yes,” I responded.

“Ah, yes, very nice. Loritz did not exaggerate.” His hand withdrew after I’d come, but only to unzip himself—a sound that made me shudder. He took my hand and inserted it in his fly. He wasn’t wearing briefs. And he was gigantic. Half hard.

“Did Loritz exaggerate about me? Take it out; get its measure.” I pulled the cock out of his shorts and ran my hand up it from the root to the glans, a chill going up my spine when I felt him shudder and engorge. I was big. Loritz was bigger. Adio was a monster.

“Loritz only said that I would be pleased with you,” I answered. His hand went to the back of my neck, which he massaged briefly but also gave me the feeling that he was about to guide my head to his lap.

I moaned and said, “I don’t really think . . . here.”

“I don’t think so, either—unless I wanted it here, and then you would take it from me,” he said, accompanied by his rich-toned laugh. “Not here. I just wanted to check where we stand.”

“Where we stand?” I asked.

Again the laugh. “I don’t think we’ll be standing—unless, of course, you want to. I can do it that way too. I want to know if you will blow me, if you will take my cum in your throat. Will you do it all? We like to do it all here in Jamaica.”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever will get you off,” he said.

“That too.”

He flashed me a big smile, turned the motor on—and thank god the motor sounded quite prepared for a drive—and put the car into gear. He left his big slug of a cock hanging out as he drove me north, through the town, and up toward the mountains. He went flaccid, but his cock lay there, nestled across his thigh, big as a deep-sea slug. I started to fold myself back into my trousers, but he said, “No, leave it out for now. I want to see it.”

Less than a half hour later, Adio was fucking me. When he’d cleared the outskirts of Kingston town, he pulled off the road on a track in the lush foliage.

“I want to know what you’ll do for me—how much you want,” he said.

This time when his hand went to the back of my neck, he did pull my face down into his crotch. I sucked his massive cock greedily, not being able to deep throat it, but giving that a serious try. I took his cum in my throat. Then, while he was building another hard, he sucked me off—expertly and efficiently—holding my wrists with his fists and taking all of me deep in his throat and sucking me vigorously until I cried out and came.

The taxi was small, but he then showed that he could fuck me in the front seat. He apparently had a lot of practice doing it. He had my back pressed into where the edge of the passenger seat met the door panel. He had one beefy arm encasing my waist and lifting my pelvis up to him, and he had his knees pushed into the driver’s seat, his cock in my passage, and the springs in both seats serenaded us as he fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. I alternated from grasping his buttocks to hold him inside me and running my hands through the thick, beaded dreadlocks swirling around his head as he worked my ass.

“Are you satisfied?” I asked when he’d finished me.

“I am quite happy, yes,” he said, with a grin. “Loritz did not lie.”

After another twenty minutes of fondling and me lying back in the seat again for him to hand job me and take my cum in his mouth this time, we proceeded to Gordon Town, Adio exuberant and me purring, the best of intimate friends.

“Maybe this will be all we do on this tour,” he said, as he started up the engine.

“If that’s what you want,” I answered. “If that’s how you’d like to spend the time, that’s what I’d like.” He clearly liked that, because he was whistling happily to himself as we drove off.

* * * *

He told me that the café he was taking me to—not much more than a grouping of shacks with a palm-frond covered frame over everything—was a gay dive but that I wasn’t supposed to let on that it was and that, although he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t touch me while we were there in the open and that I shouldn’t touch him either. After what he had done to me on the taxi, that’s all I wanted to do—to touch him, to have him inside me, to hold him inside me and to rock on his mammoth cock.

There wasn’t much there to indicate to me that the clientele was gay, even though the few patrons there were men. If there had been women too, it obviously would be connected to a hetero brothel, Adio said. I only “got it” when I saw a white man rise from a table where he’d been alone and follow a strapping young black Jamaican into one of the huts. I could see into the interior of the hut from where I was sitting. Shortly after they entered, what I could see through the open door of the room into the dimly lit room were two pale legs raised and spread and the muscular back of a naked ebony-brown body between them. The mounds of the black man’s buttocks were flexing and constricting and the toes on the feet of the white legs were scrunching open and closed as the black hips rocked down. The white guy’s hands were gripping the bulging biceps of the young black bull. It was obvious that someone was getting fucked—a white man was being fucked by a young, black buck.

I turned to Adio to bring his attention to that tableau only to find that he was looking at me, smiling, obviously very much aware what I was looking at. Contrary to what he had told me, he moved a hand to my thigh, but only left it there for a second or two, stroking my thigh with his fingers.

“Yes, I will fuck you like that,” he said. “Perhaps I should recommend some shops down this street to you and then we could go someplace, just the two of us, and I will mount and fuck you deep.”

“Perhaps that sounds like a great idea,” I said, taking the risk of reaching between us and wrapping my fingers around one of his thumbs—ever so briefly. He laughed. “I find the word ‘mount’ quite arousing,” I added.

“I will mount, mount, mount you, and I will ride, ride, ride your ass,” he said in a low, guttural voice. We both laughed.

I walked away from the café and over to an artisan’s village Adio directed me to, which was a string—a long string—of open-air shanty stalls, opening out onto a walking deck—all made to look primitive and haphazard, but of course it wasn’t. It was all gotten up for the tourists. There was little variety in the goods being offered. One shop was more or less like the next. Textiles or wood carving. Painted metal art, made from old metal drum covers, and art on canvas that would look original and colorful when you got it back to the States, but here looking like there was maybe a dozen designs, painted over and over and over again.

The vendors came out of their stalls to draw my attention, wheedling me to look at their wares. “Just a look, sir, madam, no obligation. Special price just for you.” But Adio had told me what shop to look for and how I would recognize it—in a shack fronting the street rather than the simple stall that most of the shops were.

I did want to buy something to help get some money into the economy of a superpoor country that recently had been hit hard by a hurricane. But it all looked just too touristy.

It all became a jumble, everything looking the same—until I entered the shop of Talen, the one Adio had directed me to. There my eyes were arrested for some reason by carvings that looked different from the others. The shopkeeper caught my hesitation—as no doubt they all quickly learned to do—and was up from his hammock at the back corner of the display room and approaching me in a flash.

“Are you Talen?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said a little hesitantly.

“My guide, Adio, told me this was the shop I wanted to come to.”

“Ah, Adio.” Talen was suddenly all smiles and was touching my arms here and there and giving me lascivious looks. It was quite evident that the mention of Adio had put me in a category the Jamaican was interested in—and had wares to sell to.

“Adio is satisfying you, yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, embarrassed that Adio’s ways were so well known.

“He has a really big one, doesn’t he?” Talen popped his tongue in his cheek for emphasis. Not answering him, I turned and walked down a line of shelves in the small space, looking at the wares. Before I turned, though, I’m sure I showed him a guilty expression, so the man knew. Yes, Adio did, indeed, have a big one.

Talen wasn’t what I had expected. He was short but slim and had great muscle tone in his arms. I expected that he carved at least some of the wooden objects I saw in his shop himself, adding muscle to his arms. He was wearing the pink shirt and tan trousers that they all wore in this overly planned false paradise. But his shirt was open down to one button at his waist. His chest muscles bulged despite his size and gleamed nearly black. I sort of wondered if he’d oiled himself up and was offering more than wooden souvenirs.

He tapered down into a tiny waist, but I could tell by the way that his thighs worried the legs of the tan trousers that he probably was a soccer player. He wore a gold necklace with some sort of religious pendant resting at his sternum, nestled between the swells of his pectorals.

A handsome face. Dark brown, the almost European features of the Spanish-heritage Caribbean mulatto and dark, flashing eyes.

“Special carvings. Just for you, sir. You not find anything like them anywhere else here in Jamaica.”

I almost believed him. What had arrested my attention was that the carvings were slightly erotic. It was subtle. I probably only caught on to the suggestive themes because I had an eye for erotic art and collected it. This wasn’t quite what I collected—what I could see was hetero, although there were enlarged penis images discernible in the curves of the carvings—in ebony and mahogany mostly, although some stone carvings too. Yes, clearly this shop dealt in sex art. Just not of the right variety that I collected. I reached out and touched the exaggerated penis of one of the figures.

I head the shopkeeper laugh. “Big like Adio, yes?”

He was begging me to affirm that Adio had fucked me. I just smiled, took my hand away from the figurine and continued down the line of the shelf.

I trailed my eyes along the shelves, and Talen followed the focus of my gaze, all the time pointing this and that out and yammering on in repeated phrases of “This very nice. None like it anywhere here. You like? You buy? I wrap it for you. Special price—special for a friend of Adio.”

He caught the dulling in my eyes as I didn’t see anything that would be appropriate for my collection. The penises were interesting but just small carvings—nothing particularly unusual. I wanted something memorable. Still, he could see that it was the shafts I was touching and stroking and he obviously knew the type of client Adio gave tours to.

“I have more. More not right to show here. Come, come, sir, through curtain here. I have more behind. Different. More to your interest, I am sure.”

I followed him into another shanty room immediately behind the first. There indeed were more wood carvings here—and more erotic in what they depicted. But still male on female (or female kneeling before male). A cacophony of fucking and huge penises. Nice and erotic. But not quite right.

“Yes, very nice,” I said. “But not for me, thanks.” I turned and started to pull the curtain aside to leave, but the young man grinned wide at me and winked.

“I understand. More. The same but different. I understand. Adio sent you here. You look, you see. I have more you will like. Beyond curtain there. More like Adio. You take look. you like. Good prices. Best in Jamaica. No one else has these. And if you have time, I can carve something special for you, only for you.”

“You carved these?” I asked, interested now.

“Yes, I carved most of them.”

It was as I suspected.

He shuffled me toward the back of the room and through a curtain into yet another room. And jackpot. He’d figured out exactly what I might be interested in. Carvings of men on men, in a huge variety of fucking poses. And carved penises. Huge dildos, their bulbous heads painted in bright red, or green, or yellow, or white.

I reached over and picked up one of the dildos with a red cock bulb on it. I ran my hand up and down it. Smooth ebony.

The vendor was watching me like a hawk. He could clearly see he had arrived at my interest. “Very nice. Oil these up and they do a very good job. You take. Special price. Just today. Just for you.” He then pulled in close to me and whispered in my ear, even though there wasn’t anyone there to hear us. “You found one very special. Very special indeed.”

“Special how?”

“Adio. This one Adio. You recognize it, no? Just like what Adio put in you, no?”

“I don’t understand,” I said. But of course I did. He was dying for me to confirm that Adio had fucked me.

“I carved this one from Adio, your guide,” he said. “Adio has a very special cock. Very big. Veins standing out. You recognize it? Is that why you picked it up? This one very big, but exactly like Adio. I carved it special. Adio has fucked you, yes?”

I shrugged, not ready to tell all to this shopkeeper stranger.

“Not fucked you yet or will not fuck you at all?” he persisted.

I shrugged, but I gave a little laugh.

“So, he has fucked you. You are handsome man. I knew Adio couldn’t keep his cock out of you. He fucked you good, didn’t he?”

He had worn me down. “Yes, Adio fucked me good.”

“You should have a souvenir of that. This carving, no? You can take him home with you when you leave Jamaica, and he can fuck you in your home. Yes?”

“Yes, OK, I’ll take it,” I said, not being able to suppress another laugh.

“And, if you like, if you buy it and want to try it out here, there is another room and a table. You can experience the wooden Adio yourself, or I can do it for you.”

I shuddered, but managed a smile and said, “I don’t think so, not right now.”

“Ah, yes, Adio will take you to his house after you visit my shop and will fuck you again with the real thing. I understand.”

I just gave a little smile and didn’t answer. But that sounded like a sterling idea to me.

“And you?” Talen persisted. “You have a nice dick too? You big at the crotch. You have a big cock too, I bet. I can carve one that is you. Something very special to take home. This one is mahogany. I can do you in mahogany too. Very unique and useful. You can fuck yourself with yourself.” He named a price. I couldn’t resist.

I couldn’t resist him. I was sold. “OK. But where will we go for me to model for it? I don’t want another customer to walk in on that.”

* * * *

“Lie down on that table, please. Make yourself naked below. I must make you fully erect to know how to make the carving . . . oh, yes, you have a very nice one. Does it? . . . yes, it does, doesn’t it? A cut one does make a better carving. Your cap is very large. That is good.”

We were in a small workshop room behind the display spaces. It was obvious from the chunks of different kinds of wood, the carving tools, and the shavings around on the floor that this was where Talen carved his figures. When I had stripped off my trousers and briefs and reclined back on the table in the room, a massage table, he took my cock in hand and was stroking it erect. I raised my torso on my elbows and watched him.

“Very big. Very long,” He said, leaving me and going over to a bench to pick out a piece of wood. “Mahogany, I think. Yes, mahogany is very hard. You will want it very hard inside you. But if you want it to be lighter wood, since you are a white man, I can use maple. I have some of that. Very hard too, but very hard to get it.” Talen laughed at his little joke.

“Mahogany would be fine,” I said. “What are you doing with that one?” I asked, pointing to a finished dildo he’d picked up from the table. It wasn’t thick, but it was cruelly upcurved, exceptionally long, and had an oversized bulb on it. He was greasing it up with lube.

“We must get you to maximum erection,” he said, matter-of-factly, and brought the greased dildo and a smartphone over to the table, “and you will want to know how one of these can please you. Put this wedged cushion under your lower back and roll your ass up, please. And spread your thighs, bend your legs, and feet flat on the table.”

“That’s an evil dildo,” I said, more than a bit concerned. “That’s unnatural. You didn’t carve that from a real man, did you?”

“This? Yes, I did. This is from my own shaft. Perhaps you might like the real thing as well as the wood. You are very handsome man. Great body. I would love to fuck you. You like for men to fuck you, I think. You hardened right up for me. I bet you and Adio fuck like gods.”

Perhaps yes, I thought. But I didn’t say it, as he continued. “Now, please, lie still. We make you erect and take photos. Then I carve it for you. I work very fast. You will be pleased.”

I lay back, but I was up on my elbows again, panting hard and groaning, as he worked the curved dildo inside me and starting moving it in and out and in circles. He went deep, the big cock head on a slender cock providing a sensation I hadn’t had before. And the shaft was curved enough that I could feel the piss slit kissing my walls deep. I went hard and big and harder and bigger, and Talen, humming and whispering, “Good, good. Very good. You are magnificent,” clicked off photos and occasionally took measurements with a tape measure.

“And now, if you like . . .”

“Yes, please,” I groaned. “You. Yours. Give it to me.”

And he did for a while, exchanging him in wood for himself in the flesh, as he stripped off his trousers and briefs, climbed up on the table between my legs, and, as I gripped his buttocks, entered me strongly and deep. As I lay there groaning and moaning, he worked magic inside me in the flesh.

“Very much like you. You are very good lay,” he murmured as he fucked.

He wasn’t quick, and I didn’t want him to be, rocking against him in perfect harmony as he used the curve of the cock to give attention to every inch of my passage walls. Before I came, however, he pulled out and continued with the wooden dildo and with taking photos of the effect that had on my own cock.

I shot my load before he was finished taking the photos and then he went over to the bench, still humming, and began carving the chunk of wood he had, clicking through the photos on his phone for help. I lay there on the table, on my back, slowly masturbating myself and watching him carve, sand, and polish. He worked quickly, at last lifting it up to show me his work, which was quite convincing. “There it is. You have a beautiful cock. And now we try it out.”

Try it out? “Not on me. I’m exhausted,” I said.

“As you wish,” he answered. He was greasing the dildo up.

He was the only one lying on the table now, and I was standing beside the table. He was lying on his back, in the position he’d had me in. I was working his ass with my new dildo, the replica of my own cock, which was in erection again. I played his asshole with the greased dildo as he cried out his pleasure. I worked him expertly, and he was enjoying it.

“Please, to be sure of the cut, I need to compare,” he said.

“You want me to . . . ?”

“Yes, to be sure I have carved it right.”

I laughed, but I reached down to my trousers, fished out a condom packet, tore it open, crowned myself, and climbed up on the table. I moved between his thighs, pulled the dildo out of his ass, and plunged my cock inside him. He shuddered and writhed a bit as I moved up inside him, but when I bottomed, he settled into concentrating on taking me all in without further haggling. I took him long and hard—and with exuberance. I’d been on a submission spree for months, and I hadn’t had ass myself in so long that I fucked with abandon.

After I was done, I held there. He’d taken the cock well.

“Did they feel the same?” I asked.

“I shouldn’t say,” he answered, “but there is no replacement for a real dick. But they felt as much the same as they could. Would you like to do the comparison?”

“What? You want to fuck me again?”

“I enjoyed being inside you. If you will take my dick again, I’ll give you the Adio dildo and yours for free.”

“Give me this one you carved of you also, and it’s a deal,” I said.

“You want my dick?”

“I loved your cock. Is it a deal?”

I lay there, on my back, my thighs open to him, again, as Talen crouched over me, his knees shoved under my buttocks to tilt my pelvis up to him, and he fucked me with his natural, upcurved cock, kissing my walls deep with his spongy bulbous cockhead, giving me sensations that were different—and better, just different—than he had achieved with the dildo version.

I left his shop with three dildos, each unique, each giving me a connection to a real man, including myself. I paid him for them, though. I had come with the intention of putting some money in the local economy. Talen seemed quite pleased.

Adio drove me up into the mountains to the Irish Town, with its low-slung shanties close to the road and its female prostitutes lounging around on the streets. He lived in what was essentially one room in a line of rooms under one corrugated roof with salmon-colored plaster walls. I suspected the other rooms were used by prostitutes. I probably should say “other prostitutes,” as I was quite sure that Adio was a male whore.

There, he used the huge mahogany dildo fashioned from his cock on me before laying me out on his bed and laying me with the real thing. Each was very nice. There were slight variations in the feel, but each stretched me to the limit.

Adio barely got me back to the ship in time, where Loritz was waiting for me with a big grin on his face and where, before he too bent me over the bed and covered me in a doggie fuck, he opened me up, for the first time, with the dildo of my own cock.

It was lucky that Customs in Key West didn’t inspect my baggage and find and confiscate my new toys. But, then, the culture of Key West being what it was, the custom’s official probably would have just smiled and waved me through. I would say he probably also would ask me for a date, except that he did ask me for a date. He was a big bruiser of a stud, so I said “yes.” He laid me quite nicely, which was a pleasant welcome back to the keys.

For the next two weeks I was the talk of the gay community and welcome at all of the parties in Key West and when I got home, my new toys were well oiled and polished to a high shine.