Wild One
by Habu
13 Apr 2020 1562 readers Score 9.3 (42 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
“I have a cabin up near Jefferson City, on the Missouri River. I’m going up there the week after next. I thought you might like go with me. I’d give you the time off. Fishing and hiking in the hills and . . . you know . . .”
Yes, Martin knew what John Shield, the owner and manager of Shield’s Hotel in Willow Grove, Missouri, meant by the “you know.” He was touching the eighteen-year-old on his arm, rubbing the tight weave of the shirt material between a thumb and forefinger and giving the young man a cow-eyes look. Martin should be flattered that the not-so-old, maybe in his early thirties, good-looking, and prosperous hotel owner was showing interest in him. Shield had bought Martin the shirt he was wearing so that, Shield said, Martin would look presentable when he worked in the hotel. The hotel owner would have bought so much more for Martin, if the young man had been willing to play with him for it. Martin hadn’t made up his mind about “things” yet, though, and he wasn’t going to let life get complicated until he did. Until then he wasn’t going to reject future possibilities with Shield, however.
It wasn’t like Shield had misinterpreted any signals from Martin. Martin hadn’t backed away from the looks and innuendo he received. He’s definitely conveyed “when the time is ripe.” He just hadn’t stepped forward yet. It was clear that Shield thought a trip to his mountain cabin the week after next would be ripe time.
Shield wasn’t the only one in town who gave Martin clothes and such. He wasn’t even the only one who gave Martin cow eyes. The priest at the Catholic church, where Martin sometimes was an altar boy, gave Martin those looks too—and he touched Martin whenever he had a chance—not all that intimately yet, though—not yet. Martin wouldn’t have let it go that far without making a decision what he was going to be in life. He didn’t want to cut off all possibility with the priest until then because he felt sorry for how the man had pined for him. If Martin ultimately decided to go with men, he’d give the priest some satisfaction, but not much or more than a time or two.
Martin was so good looking that the girls—and even some married women—in the village gave him cow eyes too. But Martin wasn’t aroused by the women like he was by the men. If he didn’t go with the men, he increasingly realized that he’d be in an eternal fight with his instincts.
John Shield would be a good catch for anyone. Shield’s Hotel and restaurant was the most prosperous business in town, living mostly on commercial salesmen needing someplace to stop between Kansas City, in Kansas, and Springfield, in Missouri. And Shield, as well as being the best-looking man in his age bracket in town, was also the richest one. He had the first car owned by a Willow Grove resident, a Chevrolet Series 490, bought the previous year, in 1914, for the enormous price of $490. And he’d also gone all the way to Baltimore that year to attend the National Star-Spangled Banner Centennial Celebration. He’d brought the trappings of the flag and celebration back to Willow Grove and that was the theme of the hotel’s decorations this year. He also wasn’t married, which meant all of the young women in the area had set their caps for him—at least all who had given up on Martin already. But he didn’t seem to be interested in any of them in a matrimonial way.
Martin suspected he knew why. And that was because Shield was showing interest in him that Martin would have thought would have gone to the most likely female catch in that town. And at eighteen and just now becoming attuned to his developing sexuality, Martin was discovering that he, like Shield, seemed more interested in men than in women.
“There’s a bell,” Martin said, looking up at the board behind the reception desk. “Room 210. Should I go up and see what they want?”
“Yes, why don’t you do that,” Shield said, sighing and going back behind the reception desk. Martin was a sometime worker at the hotel, doing whatever odd jobs needed to be done and that could be done by a smallish sort of late teen with a slim, if always in motion, body. He had a mop of blond hair, watery blue eyes, and an infectious smile that won hotel guests over even when they were irked about something. Martin always was ready to help someone out.
Shield had been conquered by Martin’s ready smile and he sincerely wished the young man would help him out with something—something of his choosing that involved vigorous exercise.
Martin was known around the town as the “wild one.” Some men, like Shield—and some women too—would like that to have meant that the young man took risks and was ready to do the unconventional or downright scandalous, but it had more to do with his nature. He was a child of nature. If he had parents or a nuclear family, they were long gone. He was a spirit of the forest surrounding the town. He was here and there—helping out here, attending a meal with a family there, sleeping who knew where? He had no grounding and yet he was a free spirit, personally grounded, not flighty in the least.
There were many who would like to take hold of him and possess everything he was, but, as yet, none had. Martin was aware of this interest in mastering him, of course, and felt he was on the cusp of making choices. But he wasn’t sure that going to a cabin alone with John Shield in two weeks’ time was a good choice . . . yet. The young man did have urges and desires building, though. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he committed to momentous decisions. And there certainly was nothing about John Shield that put Martin off going with him.
At the hotel, when he wasn’t someplace else helping someone raise a roof or plant a garden, he was delivery boy, bus boy in the dining room, and sometimes a waiter in the hotel’s bar.
It was in the hotel bar that he first encountered a particularly handsome—as handsome as John Shield, nearly the same age as Shield, and a much more glib talker than Shield was—salesman named Theo who was traveling from some large town to some other larger town. He had a last name and told Martin at the time what it was, but Martin didn’t remember. Martin was focused on how worldly the man seemed to be and what a smooth talker he was. As Martin was taking a beer to him in the bar one night, the salesman and the bartender were talking about a small caravan of gypsies that had been parked in a clearing in the woods outside of town, near the lake, for a week.
“I’m happy they tend to stay in the countryside,” Theo said. “They always seem to have the same wares in their caravan wagons that I’m selling and at a cheaper price.”
“That’s because they stole it off whoever you sold it to the last time,” the barkeep said, with a snort. “The longer those people stay someplace, the more that goes missing in the area. And not just things, either. You best nail down your young’uns, girls and boys alike, when there’s a gypsy caravan in town. They steal even those.”
“Still, they are carefree folk and free spirited,” Theo said. “Sometimes I wish I could just hide in one of their wagons and roam the world with them.”
He then started talking about what he’d seen in the world, and Martin was mesmerized. The salesman seemed to like that he was entertaining to Martin and he focused what he said about what he seen and done in life on what seemed to make Martin’s eyes light up.
At dinner that night in the hotel restaurant, Martin was bussing the tables and Theo was there. John Shield stopped at the salesman’s table and they exchanged talk about the nation’s capital, Washington, D.C., which Shield had visited the previous year when he went to Baltimore and Theo claimed to have visited several times.
Martin kept an ear tuned to their conversation while he worked, and he sighed more than once at the thought of traveling all the way to the coast and seeing the nation’s capital. When Shield moved on to greet and chat with other guests in the room, Theo called Martin over to him.
“Here, this is for you . . . did you say your name was Martin?” He held out two one-dollar bills, which was about as much money rubbing together as Martin had ever seen before.
“What’s that for?” Martin asked, wide eyed.
“I meant to leave you a tip in the bar and didn’t, and I’d like you to bring a pitcher of ice water up to my room tonight at about 8:00 if you’re still on duty then.”
“I go off at 8:00,” Martin said, “But I’d be happy to bring you your water before I leave.”
“Perfect,” Theo said, giving Martin a dazzling smile.
* * * *
Martin had been tightly closing his eyes. He opened them and turned his gaze toward the sound of running water. It wasn’t water though. From where Martin lay on his back in the bed in room 214 at Shield’s Hotel, he had a straight line of sight into the adjoining bathroom. Shield’s Hotel was about as fancy as you could get in a small Missouri town. Two rooms shared a bath. Room 212 wasn’t occupied tonight, so Theo had a bath all to himself.
Theo was standing in front of the toilet, pissing an arc into the bowl. He turned his face to Martin and saw the young man watching him. He smiled and said, “That was really nice. You take it like a virgin. I’ll be just a few more minutes and we’ll do it again. You’re a clever one. You know that men who like to fuck eighteen-year-olds want to take it like they are virgins.”
Martin groaned. “Yes, thank you, sir,” he answered. But he’d taken it like a virgin because that was what he’d been. He’d dreamed about doing it—having a man do it to him. Lately he’d obsessed about it. Well, he didn’t have to obsess about it anymore—or worry about whether that was what he wanted and whether he could and would do it. Yep, that salesman was one smooth talker. But the young man had to admit that he had been ripe for this. This is what he wanted. It had been painful at first but eventually he’d gotten enough hint of the pleasure it could be when he was accustomed to it for him to be willing to do it again. He stuck with it because he had decided this was what he wanted.
His legs felt numb. They were still spread and bent, having been held in position hooked on the man’s hips and shoulders forever, it seemed, as the man had filled, stretched, and moved inside him, obliterating his virginity. His feet were flat on the bed. He felt a bit sore, but the man had taken his time. He’d greased himself and Martin’s hole real well after he’d slobbered all over and in the crease of Martin’s buttocks, and he’d penetrated him slowly, waiting for Martin to adjust to him and stop groaning and panting real hard before going deeper and then again before starting to pump him.
“Yes, yes, take it like a virgin,” Theo had kept whispering. “The more you take it the better it gets.” And that had encouraged Martin to keep taking it.
Theo had lain between Martin’s legs, an arm encircling Martin’s waist and holding Martin close in and relatively still, taking most of his own weight on his knees and an elbow, as he fucked Martin’s channel. He’d pulled his cock out almost to the surface and creamed Martin just inside his entrance when he’d come and then slid inside again, through the cum, and continued fucking Martin until he’d gone flaccid.
If he found he didn’t like it, didn’t want to do it again, he could just pretend it never happened. But he now realized he did like it. Theo was also showing him that men would pay to cover him. There was a ten-dollar bill on the bureau in the hotel room that was all for Martin as long as he gave the man everything he wanted tonight.
In the bathroom, the door open to the hotel room, Theo was leaning over the toilet, one hand palming the wall behind the commode and the other stroking his cock, working to regain his erection.
Martin watched him, trying to determine if the man would be considered to be hung or not. It made a difference on how big a man Martin could consider he’d taken—whether taking the next man would be harder than having taken Theo. Martin did now realize that there would be a next man—and a man after that. Theo had told him it would be easier to take with each successive time Theo fucked him. He did say he’d fuck Martin as often as he could get it up tonight; he didn’t often get a lay as malleable as Martin. He’d made sure that Martin would agree that the ten dollars was for all night, as many times as Theo wanted to do it. There was no question that Martin would want to do it again. There had been pleasure and he had gotten focused attention. It almost was like Theo was worshiping his body while he fucked him. He hadn’t been close to anyone before now—certainly not as intimate as having someone holding him close and being inside him—being lost in desire for him.
Theo returned to the bed, still stroking his cock, and sat down beside Martin’s waist. He leaned down and took Martin’s lips with his and, at the insistence of Theo’s tongue, Martin parted his lips and let the man take possession of his mouth. Theo moved his free hand between Martin’s thighs and penetrated him with a finger. Martin arched his back and moaned, moving a hand to his own cock, which was aching for attention. Theo’s finger moved in and out, rhythmically. Then there were two. Martin emitted a low moan. Martin put his hips in motion, rocking against the moving fingers inside him. He reached down and touched, and then enveloped the man’s cock with his hand. Theo was hard again.
Coming out of the kiss, Theo stopped moving his fingers. He kept his face hovering close over Martin’s and said, “You do it. Fuck yourself on the fingers. Rock your hips on them. Suck them in deeper. I’d like you more open for the next one.”
Groaning, Martin rocked his pelvis on the fingers, which went lower and found something inside Martin’s passage to rub that nearly sent him over the moon.
“Have you done this before?” Theo asked.
“No. I think I’m gonna come,” Martin whispered. “I can’t help it.”
“Fine. Come whenever you want or have to.” Theo kept rubbing Martin’s prostate with the tip of a finger and Martin kept rocking his pelvis on the fingers and stroking his cock. Theo took possession of the boy’s mouth again, swabbing his inner cheeks with his tongue until Martin instinctively captured and started sucking on the tongue inside his mouth. He tensed and jerked. Theo held him tight, not letting him move away from the embrace and the possession of his channel by the moving fingers. Martin jerked again, ejaculated, and collapsed back on the bed.
Theo let Martin fall onto the bed on his back and rose, between Martin’s thighs, the young man’s legs dangling off the end of the bed. Theo stood over the young man, smiling, pulling on his erection with one hand and stroking Martin’s thighs, balls, and cock with the other hand. Martin moaned for him. Theo took Martin’s cock in his hand and stroked the young man to an ejaculation.
“Good. Now me again.” Theo turned Martin onto his belly and climbed up on the bed and over the youth. He wrapped an arm around Martin’s belly and lifted his hindquarters up to where Martin was on his knees, but his chest was pressed into the mattress. The salesman went up on his feet, crouched over Martin’s tail, mounted the young man’s ass, slid his cock inside, and began to pump. One of Theo’s hands went around Martin’s torso to palm one of his pecs, and the man thrumbed and rolled Martin’s nipple between thumb and forefinger. The thumb of the other hand entered Martin’s mouth and the young man sucked on it while he was being fucked. Later he would be presented Theo’s post-coital cock to be sucked and cleaned with his mouth.
Martin groaned and whimpered, but he was climbing the levels of arousal, lust, release, experience, and satisfaction. What was painful before wasn’t as painful now. What gave a hint of promised pleasure before was providing more pleasure now.
The next time will be less painful, more pleasurable—and the time after that even more so—kept rolling through Martin’s brain as he gave and gave and gave to the traveling salesman.
As yet, Martin had only been fucked twice in his life, both times this evening, the first time stripped him of his anal virginity. The second time was the start of him learning techniques of exploring sexual pleasure. The smooth-talking salesman had made a sale.
* * * *
Martin lay there on the hotel room bed early the next morning and watched the salesman brush his teeth and shave, then dress, and then take his suitcase and leave the room. Occasionally he’d turn his head toward the young man and smile. He didn’t say anything, though. He’d fucked Martin a third time, in the middle of the night after putting them into a sixty-nine position and guiding Martin to suck him while he was giving Martin head. Then he’d lain back on the bed, lifted Martin up by the waist and set him down on the cock, and Martin, under his guidance, had ridden the shaft.
Martin hadn’t resisted. He hadn’t initiated anything, but he hadn’t known how to do anything. He’d had it in his imagination, but he didn’t have the details down of how to do it in real life. The salesman taught him how to take it, at least. Martin had anticipated the pain part, if only in theory. He hadn’t anticipated the pleasure of being fused with another and of the passion of the act—of the acts. He hadn’t had any idea of the variety of positions in which he could be filled with a cock, and Theo had told him they hadn’t even begun to exploit all of the possibilities. Theo was athletic in the fuck and had demanded the same from Martin. Would most other men be this athletic and demanding as well? Were these the greatest fucks Martin would ever have? Was this the biggest cock he’d ever take?
While they were fucking, there was nothing else in the world for Martin. He concentrated on a man wanting him, wanting him enough to be inside him, wanting him enough to release his seed inside him. This was exhilarating for Martin and also still confusing and fraught with questions. He was on the threshold—no, across the threshold, beyond the beaded curtain—of a whole new life. Was this already the best it would ever be?
Afterward Martin thought back on why it had been so easy for Theo to get his cock in him. Martin had heard the expression of “talking the pants off” of someone before. He hadn’t known what that would mean in real life. Now he did.
Ten minutes after Theo left, Martin rolled out of the bed with a groan—he hadn’t known how sore it could make him and what it felt like to be filled and stretched either—laying there and panting with every sensor in his body focusing on the pulsating club filling his gut. He stumbled into the bathroom, grateful that the adjoining Room 212 hadn’t been rented out, and cleaned himself up with the damp washcloth Theo had left on the sink. He pissed and shat, dressed, and gingerly descended the staircase to the hotel lobby.
He wasn’t working at the hotel this day, thank God, and John Shield wasn’t up and at the reception desk yet. The others scurrying around the hotel weren’t aware that Martin wasn’t on duty, though, so no one challenged him about sleeping the night in a hotel room, although God knew there hadn’t been near enough sleeping going on.
Theo’s suitcase was sitting next to the reception desk. The salesman himself was sitting at a table in the dining room, facing a huge breakfast and chatting up Clarice, the breakfast waitress. She was eating up his smooth talk, but Martin knew it was all for naught. The salesman was just practicing for what was important to him—a sale of a product or getting his rocks off with a young man.
Martin walked out of the hotel and headed west, across the downtown area of Willow Grove, such as it was, and out into the woods at the end of the town, where there was a small lake, surrounded by trees, within walking distance. With every step, he felt better physically, everything returning to its right size and shape, not too sore. Thankfully, he was in tip top physical shape. Emotionally, he couldn’t have felt better, but everything was jumbled up inside his brain. He needed to think about this. By the time he got to the lake and had some time to think he’d be just the same as yesterday. But of course he’d never be just the same as yesterday. He’d been the wild one, wild for a different meaning than could be applied to him now.
But regret it? Absolutely not. He already was thinking about the next time he would be lying under a man. Theo, the salesman, was leaving today. If he was going to be here another night, and he wanted to fuck Martin again, he would not have needed the excuse of wanting a pitcher of ice water brought to him at 8:00. Martin would have gone to his room willingly, lain on his back willingly, opened his legs for the man willingly, and taken the man’s cock inside him willingly. For ten dollars he would have let the man do to him anything he wanted to do. Hell, Martin would let him do it just for experience and education.
At the lake, Martin stripped off his clothes and slipped into the waters of the lake. He swam, vigorously, across the lake and back and then languidly from side to side. He was floating on his back when the other young man arrived at the embankment of the lake and stripped his clothes off. His clothes were of garish colors. He was wearing some sort of deerskin boots that looked like he’d made them himself. Martin wanted a pair.
The young man was maybe a year older than Martin, berry brown, and a head taller than Martin—hard-bodied and muscled but slender. Martin now knew that Theo, the salesman, hadn’t been hung. This young man was hung. He had dark, flashing eyes, and jet-black hair, which was long, unusual for Missouri in these days, and tied off in a ponytail running down his back. He was exotic, exciting. He, more than Martin, exemplified the term “wild one”—certainly now.
It was clear from the glances he cast toward the water that he knew Martin was in the lake and not far off shore. The exotic-looking young man folded and placed his clothes near to where Martin had left his clothes and he looked out into the lake occasionally and located where Martin was. He dove into the lake—recklessly dove rather than the tentative entrance Martin had made—having no idea how deep the water he was diving into was and not caring—or having swum here before and knowing everything there was to know about the lake. Martin preferred that he was just a wild one who didn’t care, who took his chances, and who won through.
He swam laps around where Martin was dogpaddling in place. Yes, he quite clearly knew another young man was in the water.
“I’m Sandu,” he said when he swam near Martin and went into a dogpaddle very near the other young man. The water of the lake was clear. Martin could see that Sandu looked down Martin’s torso and could clearly discern that Martin was hard. His eyes came back up to meet Martin’s and he smiled and gave a little nod downward. Martin instinctively looked down to see that the young man’s cock was even thicker and longer than it had been before the youth dove into the pool. He too was in erection. He wanted Martin to see and mark that. Just in this way, the two of them had shared their preference, and both knew they had.
“I’m Martin. I live in Willow Grove.”
“I don’t. I live in the world. Race you across the lake and back.” Sandu, quite naturally, won. Back not far off the bank, but in water deeper than they were tall, they dogpaddled near each other, murmuring to each other on whatever came to them, the topics of which Martin couldn’t remember afterward. Sandu touched Martin “here” and “there” on the face and underwater, on the chest and nipples and “down there.” Sandu’s erection was pressing at Martin’s thighs, and Martin couldn’t help but take his breath in.
“Tell me, have you ever lain under a man of the world?” Sandu asked.
Martin thought he had. A traveling salesman was more a man of the world than any man who lived in Willow Grove. But he felt tongue tied. He didn’t answer.
With a laugh, the exotic young man moved his cock between Martin’s trembling thighs. “I wish to be inside you,” the man of the world murmured. He cupped the back of Martin’s neck and brought his face in for a tentative kiss—and then a deeper one. Mesmerized, Martin yielded all.
Holding Martin in a close embrace, Sandu paddled over to the bank of the lake. He moved Martin up to the soft, grass-covered verge on to his back and, still kneeling in the shallows of the water himself, he draped Martin’s knees over his shoulders. He took Martin’s cock in his mouth and gave him slow, deep head, while Martin moaned, ran his fingers through Sandu’s black hair, and, eventually, pumped warm cum into the back of Sandu’s throat.
Martin gave the exotic young man everything. He denied him nothing. Sandu took what he wanted as if by right—as if he knew Martin was his to take.
Exhilarated and still on fire, Martin rose from his back and walked to the mossy bank near where they had left their clothes. He dropped down on his back on the moss, feet toward the water, and spread and bent his legs, placing his feet flat on the ground.
Yes, he was showing he was open to the other sexy, exotic boy. He’d been fucked three times since this time the previous day, and fucking was high in his mind. This was clearly a “come and fuck me” signal.
Sandu came out of the water and slowly approached Martin, smiling and in massive erection. He came down at Martin’s side, stretching out beside Martin’s body, his torso raised, supported on an elbow, and hovered over Martin’s chest. He’d snapped off a cattail as he climbed out of the water. He ran this over Martin’s naked body, touching him here, gliding over his shimmering skin there. Martin moaned and panted lightly. He writhed languidly under Sandu’s attentions and whispered, “Now, now. Do it now,” even though he shuddered at the knowledge that Sandu was thicker and longer than Theo had been. He reached up and freed the Sandu’s ponytail and his long, black hair cascaded to the young man’s shoulder and beyond.
“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Sandu murmured.
“Yes,” Martin whispered back.
“You have been fucked before, yes?”
“Yes,” Martin answered. He didn’t say how many times or how recently.
“You saw me. You can take me, yes?”
“Yes.” He had no idea whether he could or not, but he knew he wanted to try. In the event, he did take Sandu. Twice now, once later, in a gypsy caravan wagon.
Sandu lifted his legs over Martin’s thigh and set his knees between Martin’s thighs and ran his hands up Martin’s raised arms, grasping his wrists, as Martin, panting and whispering, “Yes, yes, please,” raised and rolled up his pelvis. Martin gasped as Sandu entered him with a cock that was thicker and longer than Martin had taken before and immediately set up the rhythm of the fuck, Martin gasping and groaning with each thrust.
“Do it. Fuck me,” Martin hissed.
Sandu fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.
Later, Sandu sat, cross-legged, on the moss and Martin was in his lap, facing Sandu. Martin’s legs were wrapped around Sandu’s hips, the heels of his feet pressed into Sandu’s bare buttocks. And Sandu grasped Martin’s orbs in his hands and pulled Martin’s pelvis on and off his cock as Martin’s torso arched back and his hands grabbed at clumps of moss. Martin ejaculated up the exotic older teen’s belly as, instructed on how to do it, the muscles of Martin’s channel walls milked Sandu’s cock dry.
Pulling his torso up to Sandu’s breast afterward and the two embracing close and kissing, Martin whispered, “Are you real? You are so exotic. So satisfying.”
“No, I am a fairy, flitting about. Here today, gone tomorrow.”
“Surely not gone tomorrow,” Martin whispered.
“Yes, possibly gone tomorrow. I am Romany. I’m with the gypsies camped not far from here. We came here when we did and will move on when we will. I saw you and sensed that you needed this.”
“So, all gypsies are fortune-tellers? You could tell just by looking at me that I needed to be fucked?”
“I could tell how you reacted to me. You were blatant in your need. You threw yourself at me. You needed cocking, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.” Martin didn’t quibble about throwing himself at the exotic lover.
“But you are not too experienced. Delicious but not experienced.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But you want to be.”
“Yes.”
“I will take you to the camp, to my tatal—father, my unchiul—uncle, and my bunicul—grandfather. You don’t mind being fucked by different experienced men in succession, do you?”
Besotted with Sandu and in still in high heat, Martin did not say no.
They were eating a meal—a stew served and eaten wherever colorfully dressed members of the extended gypsy family were perched—around the circle of yellow, with red and blue painted designed, gypsy caravan wagons in a clearing in a grove of oaks.
There was laughter and song—and dancing. A muscular, handsome man in his thirties with long black hair tied in a pony tail, the unchiul—uncle—played some exotic stringed instruments Martin had no idea what to identify as. Another muscular, raven-haired handsome man—the tatal, the father—danced in the circle lit by torchlight as dusk crept in. He danced with women. He danced with Sandu. He danced with Martin. The bunicul, the grandfather—old and leathery, but still muscular and handsome, a long ponytail of salt and pepper hair streaming down his back—sat off to the side, clapping to the rhythm of the stringed instrument and the dance and singing in a strong bass to the soprano of the women.
At the height of the dancing, music, and frivolity, the tatal picked Martin up in his arms and carried him into one of the wagons. He stripped Martin of his clothes and laid him on a narrow bed, kissing and fondling the young man’s body all over, bringing Martin to a panting erection, which the man took in his mouth and drained. Martin gave no sign of resistance. The man tied Martin’s wrists to the brass rung overhead of the headboard, unlaced and flared his britches to allow his horse-hung cock to flop out, let his hair loose to flow down his back, climbed between Martin’s spread knees, penetrated him with the proud cock, and ravished the young man, changing their position from time to time to introduce a new approach to the passage by the cock. He was teaching Martin as well as royally fucking him. The gypsy wagon rocked on its suspension and the men outside indulged boisterously in lewd expressions and songs.
As the tatal finished, the unchiul arrived, unlaced and flared his britches, popped out another horse-hung cock, let his hair loose to flow down his back, climbed between Martin’s spread knees, penetrated him with the proud cock, and took his turn ravishing the young man in yet different positions of the fuck, saddling himself on Martin’s chest first and fucking his throat. The bunicul—the grandfather—took his turn then. The uncle hadn’t sucked Martin off; the grandfather did so, relentlessly and expertly, before sticking it to the young man and fucking him as vigorously and inventively as his two sons had. Grandpa had the thickest shaft of all too.
Martin came away with the knowledge that the signal that a gypsy was going to fuck you was that they let their hair down.
The music and dancing continued outside the caravan wagon, as Sandu came in after the grandfather had departed and stretched beside Martin, kissing and fondling him and whispering love poetry to him. His hair was down. That meant he was going to fuck Martin again—and he did.
* * * *
Father Luke was whimpering and almost crying that Sunday, after mass, when he and Martin were alone in the sacristy and Martin was perched on the ledge by the sink, the hem of his altar boy robe gathered up around his waist, his undergarments on the floor below, and the heels of the deerskin boots Sandu had given him rubbing against the priest’s bare buttocks. Father Luke’s vestments were gathered around his waist as well, and his undergarments were puddled around his ankles, as his body leaned into Martin’s and Martin held the priest’s head into his chest. The priest’s hips were swaying as he fucked the suddenly willing altar boy. Martin was a little surprised that the priest was hung and was able to get hard as a rock and could hold it for a fifteen-minute fuck.
It would be the last and only time, though, that Martin would give himself to the priest. Martin was too old, really, to be an altar boy anymore, and religion didn’t grip him enough for him to continue coming to mass. He was fairly sure that Sunday mornings now would find him in bed with whatever man had paid to bed him on Saturday night.
It was just a pity fuck. Martin felt sorry for the priest.
That evening, as dusk set in, Martin was back beside the lake. They had driven in John Shield’s Chevrolet Series 490 automobile past where the gypsy camp had been, but the Romany were gone. Sandu hadn’t said good-bye and Martin hadn’t expected him to.
Shield fucked Martin in the cramped backseat of the Chevrolet beside the lake, Martin reclining against the side of the car, his ankles on Shield’s shoulders as the hotel owner knelt between the young man’s thighs and penetrated slowly but relentlessly up into his passage. Martin held a ten-dollar bill in his hand. When Martin told the hotel owner he could have Martin for the night for ten dollars, Shield had jumped at the opportunity. He’d also told Shield it would be his first time, which pleased the hotel owner to no end, and he treated Martin like spun glass for the first coupling.
Shield was thicker and longer than Theo, the salesman, had been, but nowhere close to any of the gypsy men. After them, Martin thought he could take any man—and he was game to try almost any man. He was giving out samples now. He planned to make a business of it.
As Shield grunted his last grunt, tensed and relaxed his buttocks, and pumped the last spurt of his cum up into Martin’s channel, he more or less collapsed on top of Martin.
They kissed and, pulling out of that, Shield apologetically said, “It’s really cramped in the back of this car. I want to take you back to the hotel, to my rooms, and fuck you all night on a proper bed. I’ll pay you ten dollars more.”
“Sure, fine, anything you want, anywhere you want it for the night,” Martin said, adding, “and if you still want to take me to that cabin near Jefferson City the week after this, that’s just fine with me too.”
“You know I’ll want—”
“If you pay me ten dollars a day, you can fuck me all week there if you want.”
Shield gave Martin a lustful look that made the young man think he might regret having made that offer, and, sure enough, when they got back to the hotel, Shield proved that he could manage five more athletic fucks in a night to the three standard ones that Theo had been up for, leaving Martin—as he had been after the gypsy men were finished with him—stretched out flat on the bed, limbs akimbo, eyes glazed, and mouth blowing bubbles, but a contented little smile on his face.
And purring. Martin was purring.