My friend Traci called me on a cool, rainy morning in early October.
“Hey, it's me. Damon's getting released this morning. Would you mind taking me there to pick him up? My car isn't starting. I told him I would be there.”
Damon was Traci’s brother. I'd heard about him many times. He was 29 and had been in and out of jail dozens of times since he was 15. Mostly petty drug offenses, although he did serve a year in the state pen for beating the shit out of Traci’s abusive ex. Put the guy in a hospital, but from what I had heard about her ex, he was a piece of shit who deserved it. It didn't help matters that the dude’s dad was an ex-cop.
“I'll be there in 10 minutes,” I told her.
“What the hell,” I thought. I had nothing better to do with my day. I hung up and put on my shoes. I had no idea that a strange and exciting destiny awaited me at the county jail.
I picked Traci up and we headed downtown to get Damon. I was a little nervous -- scared actually -- to finally meet this guy. I didn't know what to expect. But I owed Traci a solid and told her on the way there that I was happy to help.
We arrived at the jail. I pulled into the parking lot and saw a few people walk out of the county administrative building as I slowed down and searched for a place to park. Traci had always described Damon as the “Viking” of the family. The guys coming out of the jail were a mix of old white guys and a couple of young black guys. No Vikings. We pulled into a parking slot and waited. Traci stared anxiously at the building.
“He told me around 9:45, but I know the drill. Hell, it could be noon. They can be really slow about processing them out.”
“Well, it's my day off and I don't have any plans,” I said. Traci and I sat in the car and chatted for a few minutes. A few more guys streamed out of the building. A Latino guy, another old white guy, and then another guy -- oh wait, nevermind, it was a butch-looking lesbian -- but still, none of them were Damon. Traci sighed.
“Keith, I think I'll go in and ask. Wait here would you?”
“Sure,” I said. “I'll just play around on my phone.” I could've gone in with her, but honestly, I'm terrified of cops and jails. I was happy to stay in the car.
Twenty minutes or so had passed. I was engrossed in an e-book I had downloaded when both doors of my car swung open. I was startled.
“Keith, Damon. Damon, Keith,” Traci said hurriedly as she lowered herself back into the passenger’s seat. I turned my head and saw this hulking beast of a man burst into my backseat, with a boisterous voice that startled me even more.
“Dude! Thank you for the ride! I'm so fuckin’ happy to get outta that shithole.”
I opened my mouth, but no words. I looked him in the face. Deep hazel eyes, glossy and tired, yet full of glee. His beautiful, somewhat freckled and chiseled face was accented by a full, wooly red beard. And this wasn't just some well-groomed, hipster beard. This was the beard of a raw, manly man who hadn't shaved in weeks, possibly months. Then there was his hair. He had this flowing mane of red hair, long and shaggy. It almost reached his shoulders. He brushed away a few locks that were covering his left eye. I saw what she meant by describing him as a Viking. He reached out his hand.
“Keith, I'm Damon. Good to meet you. Heard a lot about you.”
I shook his hand. He had a firm grip, but there was something else. There was this jolt, an energy that I felt during the split second our hands came together. I let go and turned my focus to starting the car. The keys clumsily slipped out of my hands and landed in the floorboard. I said nothing, bent down and picked them up. I put the key into the ignition. We drove away and left the jail behind.
Damon and Traci talked as I quietly drove to -- well, I wasn't quite sure as to where.
“So, Damon…,” I softly asked, “where to?”
“Dude, can we stop at MinitMart? I'd love a pack of smokes and beer -- oh my fucking god I need beer!”
“Haven't been outta jail 10 minutes and already back to your bullshit,” moaned Traci.
“Ain't like I'm going to go score some blow, Traci. Jesus.”
“Fine,” she said, as she rolled her eyes. Then she let out a small smile.
“What the fuck, I could use a beer, too.”
As we drove to the nearest MinitMart, I noticed a different kind of smell in my still relatively new VW Jetta. It was a raunchy scent. It smelled a little like armpit odor, sweat, breath, cigarettes, and… well, I couldn't quite figure it out. It was almost kind of a sweet smell, but not like sugar. I couldn't quite understand what I was smelling, but the mixture of those things, plus that sweet smell -- pheromones, maybe? -- was unsettling to me. But it was unsettling in an exciting way. I'd known Traci for years. It wasn't her scent, I knew that. It was Damon. It was how HE smelled. Something about his scent just hit me. It wasn't unpleasant -- at all. If anything, it was intoxicating.
Twenty minutes later we were at Traci’s house.
“Damon, I love you, but you can't stay here,” Traci solemnly said as she drank her second can of cheap Rainier beer.
“Elijah and Ethan are here and if Mike finds out you're here, he’ll shit.” Mike was her ex-husband (not the guy whose ass got kicked by Damon) and he had warned her not to have Damon around their kids -- ever.
“Traci, what am I gonna do? Mom and dad won't have me. My other friends are either dead, or in prison, or they've moved away. I can't leave the state. Fuck!”
I looked at Damon, and the happy, elated, recently freed man’s face that I saw in my backseat changed instantly to the look of someone who'd been beaten and defeated.
“Where the fuck am I gonna go?,” he asked, sadly. He stared down at the floor for a few seconds, almost looking as if he was about to cry.
“I swear to god I'm gonna get my shit straight. I just need one more chance.”
“Brother, you've had twenty goddamn chances. Look, I know you're a good guy...but, I just...can’t.” Traci turned to me.
“You wanna help?”
It almost felt like Traci had staged this whole thing.
The three of us spent the day together. Traci made dinner around 6. She packed up some of her ex’s old clothes and put them in a bag for Damon. We watched some Walking Dead episodes, and around 9, Damon and I said our goodbyes to Traci and we left. We didn't talk much on the car ride back from Traci’s house. A few minutes later, we got out of my car and walked up a flight of stairs and into my apartment . I opened the door to my and turned on the lights.
“So, dude, you mind if I use your shower?”
“Um, sure,” I said. “There's towels and soap in there. Everything you need.”
“Thanks Keith.” He looked at me and smiled. His hazel eyes stared right into me. He seemed truly grateful.
I sank into my leather couch and wondered: “What the fuck am I gonna do with this hardened criminal in my apartment?” I was still a little scared by Damon, but also, intrigued. Something told me this would be an interesting journey. Then I started thinking about his face, his crazy red beard, his body, his deep, sexy voice…
“Oh sorry, what's up?”
I turned and saw the red-bearded Viking come out of my bathroom, wearing nothing but a white towel that barely covered his waist.
“I'm sorry to ask, but I really wanna brush my teeth, but I don't have a toothbrush.”
I got off the couch and walked into the bathroom. There was a cheap toothbrush I'd taken from a hotel during a business trip, stashed away in the cabinet beneath my sink. I walked into the bathroom, and knelt down between the cabinet and Damon. For a brief moment, I wondered about what was behind that towel. I opened the cabinet and fetched the toothbrush.
“Here ya go...um, hope this is ok.”
Damon let out a small smile.
I raised up, and passed the toothbrush to him. We were just a few inches apart. I quickly surveyed his body. Hairy chest. Tattoos -- lots of them. Only, they weren't very good tattoos. They looked like the kind of tats a guy would get only in prison. He had some scars on his chest and arms. His left nipple looked like it might've been pierced at one time. He wasn't exactly sculpted, but he was thick and beefy. But that body hair -- damn! I wanted to bury my face in it so bad. Jesus Christ…
“You ok, Keith?”
“Oh, sorry. I just had a thought about...uh... work stuff. Sorry. I'll let you get on with brushing your teeth.”
I went back to the couch and turned on my TV and started watching South Park. I'd probably see every episode, but I needed something to distract myself. After a few minutes of watching Cartman doing something awful to Butters, Damon came into the room and sat down next to me. He was still wearing nothing but a towel.
“Dude, fucking South Park is awesome! Did you see the one where Cartman made everyone think Butters was missing and they all went to Casa Bonita? Sick shit!” I laughed. So did Damon.
“I have all the South Park episodes on DVD. Wanna watch?”
“Hell yeah!” Damon said. “So far, this is the best get outta jail day I've ever had!”
After a few beers and South Park episodes, I pulled out some weed and my bong.
“Hey Damon, you smoke?”
“Of course!” He laughed. “And I ain't on parole any more. So I can bake my fuckin’ brains out now.”
We took bong hits and watched another South Park. Without realizing it, Damon eased his way closer to me on the couch. Damon and I were baked like brownies at this point. We laughed repeatedly at the TV. Everything was funny. We started talking more, and we began to pay less attention to South Park. Damon and I took more bong hits. We laughed even more. We talked about all sorts of things. We made fun of Traci -- not in a mean way -- it's just that she makes this weird grunt sounds after she thinks she's made a point in a conversation. Anyway, Damon and I fucking hit it off. My toes curled the more we talked.
Damon put on some clothes and went outside for a smoke. I sprawled out on the couch and started watching a movie. At some point, I drifted off and fell asleep. But I wouldn't sleep for long!
“Hey, Keith, you ok?”
“Oh damn, sorry I dozed off.” But as I opened my eyes, my attention went straight to his tight jeans, and to the thick bulge between his legs.
“Well maybe you should get some sleep. You're also in my bed right now. I figure I’m sleepin’ on your couch, right?” He grinned.
“Plus, I snore, you don't want me in your bed!” Those were his words, anyway. But those eyes told me the opposite. Those eyes said: “invite me to your bed!”
I sat straight up. I realized...I WANTED him in my bed.
“Damon, this couch will kill your back. Sleep in my room.”
“Ok. If you insist…”
We went into my bedroom and got ready for bed.
“Keith, you got anything I can sleep in? I don't really wanna sleep in my jeans and I'm not wearin’ underwear.”
“Sure,” I said. I opened a dresser drawer near the bed and pulled out a pair of my favorite silk boxers. From here on out, I'd love them even more knowing he'd worn them!
“Damn, dude. Fancy.” Damon then unbuttoned his tight jeans and pulled them off right in front of me, revealing his thick, meaty cock. Even limp, it was beautiful and looked to be about six inches. I could only imagine how much bigger it got when erect. I realized I was staring too long. And I realized he noticed my stare. We said nothing. I turned off the lights. He put on the boxers and we got into bed.
“I dig these boxers,” said Damon. “Never wore anything like ‘em.”
“They're my favorites. Glad you like ‘em.”
“You're really helping me out Keith. If there's anything I can do -- and I mean anything…” And as he said that, I felt his hand on my left leg.
“Dude, I know you're gay. And I've spent a lot of time behind bars, so I know how to treat a cock real good.” He paused for a moment and let out a brief sigh.
“Truth be told, I think I prefer dick to pussy. It's been hard for me to come to grips with that. But I'm comfortable with you.”
I carefully reached my left hand over and started to caress his crotch. It surprised me to find his cock was already rock hard and the silk boxers were wet with precum. I slowly rubbed his cock up and down for a minute or two. Suddenly, he turned onto his side, facing me, and grabbed me. His big arms embraced me and he began to kiss me passionately. His wet tongue probed the inside of my mouth as his lips caressed mine. He pressed my body closer to his and held me tight. I wrapped my arms around him, too, and surrendered myself to him. As we kissed, his wooly beard rubbed against my face, ticking me -- but it felt incredible. Then, he left my mouth, reached down and pulled my underwear off. Damon left my face and kissed my neck, then my chest, then my belly, and then he turned me over in one quick swoop and began eating my ass.
I had never been a big fan of ass eating, but the way Damon did it, turned me into one! He ate my ass like a wild animal -- kind of like what I'd expect a starving wolf would do once it found a juicy piece of prey. He grunted as he licked and sucked my tender hole. A few minutes later, after he got me good and wet, Damon put one of his big, long fingers inside of me and started rubbing my p-spot. I moaned in sheer ecstasy. He alternated between licking me and fingering me. It was so fucking blissful. And then, he put two fingers in me. I about lost my fucking mind when he did that! He spit on his fingers as he pummeled my fuckhole with his two fingers. Then came a third finger! At this point, I felt as if I could cum without needing to touch my cock.
“Where's your lube?” he asked.
“Drawer in the nightstand!” I said, hurriedly. I knew what was about to happen!
Damon lubed up his long, thick meat and entered me and as I lied on my back with my legs in the air. I screamed in pain. “It's ok, it’s ok baby, the pain’ll go away, I'll be careful. I'm sorry.” He pulled out, held me, soothed me and kissed my forehead until the stabbing pain subsided. A couple of minutes later, I was ready to try again. “Ok, I think I'm ready to try again. Fuck me Damon. Fuck me. It's ok.”
His cock slid inside me effortlessly the second time. He went ALL the way in. I'd been fucked many times before, but I'd never had such a long, thick cock fill me so much. Damon continued to hold me tight as he slowly and sweetly pounded my hole.
“Fuck you feel so fuckin’ good...mmm!” he whispered in my ear. As he whispered that, the feel of his wet tongue and warm breathe in my ear only made me hotter. We started to kiss some more and he began fucking me faster...and faster...and FASTER! This beautiful stranger took me places I'd never been as his thick meat pulverized my hole. I moaned in ecstasy, screaming his name. This man had me hotter than any man I’d ever known. He made me want to worship him as my new god, as he fucked me so very deeply and powerfully. I wanted to write poetry about him and create sculptures...and, just… Oh my god! No words could describe how fantastically fulfilled he made me feel. We fucked another minute or so.
“Keith, Oh… I'm gonna blow!” And just as he said that -- he erupted -- deep, deep, deep inside of me. Deeper than any man had ever ventured. Feeling his hot load shooting inside of me caused a chain reaction. I clenched my ass muscles around his still pulsating meat, and I jerked my rock solid dick and blasted all over his furry tummy. Damon collapsed on top of me. Our hearts were beating wildly and we were both sweating. He put his hand on the side of my face, caressed it once more and gave me one more deep, exquisite kiss. I ran my fingers through his shaggy red hair. Within moments, the both of us drifted soundly to sleep.
I woke up the next morning and he was gone. I walked around the apartment to look for him, and then I went outside, thinking maybe he was having a smoke. Nope, no Damon. He just vanished. I called Traci.
“Your brother is gone. You hear from him today.”
“No...but I think I might have an idea of where he went. And it's not good.”
She explained to me a little more about his past. One of his best friends, Justin, was also one of the biggest drug dealers in the county. Coke, ecstasy, meth -- the guy apparently had it all.
“Well,” I said, with a tone of disappointment.
“He's gonna have to stay somewhere else. I'm not puttin’ up with that shit.”
After I ended the call with Traci, I went about my day. I had some work appointments scheduled anyway. Car needed washed. My e-book was also there for me, and I had a few chapters left. Yesterday was just an anomaly. Of course he was a fucked up guy -- just like everyone else I had dated in the past. By now, as a 36-year-old gay man, I was used to this.
To be continued...