Degradation

I woke up the following morning just after 10:00 a.m., my head and ass both throbbing with pain, the rest of my body aching and sore. The window blinds were closed, so my bedroom was still mostly in darkness. I sat up slowly, perched on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. Christ, I said to myself, last night was a new low, even for you. I couldn’t even remember how many men had fucked me or how many cum loads I had swallowed or how much cocaine I had snorted. It had been a lot though. I sat there as the memory of those men (twenty? thirty?) gang raping me slowly seeped back into my conscious thoughts. No, I thought to myself, it wasn’t rape. Don’t delude yourself. I stood up, too quickly as it turned out, and felt the room start to spin as my knees buckled and I collapsed to the floor. I lay there for a minute or so, wincing from the pain of the impact, thinking, you went there for the money because you’re a whore. And you stayed for the fucking because you’re a slut. You deserved everything that happened to you. 

I got to my feet, slowly this time and made my way to the bathroom, walking carefully so I didn’t fall again. I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink and saw that my face looked pallid and wasted, my eyes bloodshot and fatigued. I reeked of stale sweat and cum which made me realize that I desperately needed a shower. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it, scrubbing my body over and over, trying my best to wash away the filth and shame. I gasped when I tried to wash my ass because it was still raw, but I managed to endure the pain and get it clean along with the rest of me. Drying myself wasn’t easy either; even gently patting my hole dry caused a stinging sensation. I went back to my bedroom, feeling somewhat better, or at least cleaner. I put on a pair of grey cotton gym shorts and pondered what to do for the rest of the day. Sunday was normally one of my workout days, but I did not feel like going to the gym, even though it was just downstairs, in the same building. All I could think about was getting to my doctor the following day so I could get more Vicodin. I hoped I could get him to refill my prescription with just a blowjob, since my ass was still sore. I read a book and watched television for the rest of the day, then took my last two pills with a rum chaser just before I went to bed.

Doctor Jacobson was as sleazy and corrupt as it was possible to be and yet somehow managed to keep his medical license. I suspected it had something to do with the fact that his lushly furnished office was in the Brickell financial district and most of his patients were wealthy and well-connected. I didn’t have an appointment, but usually all I had to do was show up during his lunch hour and offer up my ass in exchange for whatever prescription I wanted. He was a lecher and a pervert, so he almost never turned me down. I got to his office right around noon on Monday and was greeted by his southern trash receptionist. Brenda was in her fifties, pasty white, with fat, sagging tits and blonde hair that was teased with enough hairspray to put a hole in the ozone layer. Judging from her makeup, she modeled her appearance on that of Tammy Faye Bakker. I figured she owed her job to the fact that he paid her well and she was too lazy to report his corrupt and unethical behavior to the American Medical Association. “Well, if it isn’t our drug addicted fag boy,” she said with a sneer as she turned away from her portable television. “Let me guess,” she said in her obnoxious southern drawl, “out of pills again?” I reined in my anger with difficulty and asked, “Is he in or not?” She smirked and said, “Yeah, he’s in his office. I’m sure he’ll see you. He’s been bitching about his wife again if you know what I mean.” I knew and was glad. It meant success was almost certain. I left the reception desk and went down the hallway to the left, towards his office, while Brenda went back to her soap operas.

His office was at the end of the hallway and the door was open. I poked my head in and said, “Hey doc, what’s up?” He looked up from his desk where he had been making notes in his appointment book while chomping on a Cuban mix sandwich. He seemed pleased at my unexpected appearance as he looked me up and down with the same leering expression he always wore when he saw me. “I’m guessing what’s up,” he said, “is that you’re out of Vicodin. Right?” I nodded as he stood up and came around the desk towards me. He was a profoundly unattractive man, in his mid-fifties, with a thick mop of unkempt grey hair, bushy eyebrows, and an unruly mustache. His eyes were a cold shade of blue and his considerable belly put a definite strain on his shirt buttons. Despite being a doctor, he was a heavy smoker and it showed in his haggard face and stained teeth. “Actually, I’m glad to see you,” he said, “since my wife has decided to be a frigid cunt lately.” I gave him a transparently fake smile and said, “Well you know I’ll always take care of your needs if you take care of mine,” and I reached out to massage his cock through his slacks. I could feel him getting hard and he started breathing faster.

“Not in here,” he said suddenly, pushing my hand away, “Exam room four like always. Let’s go, I don’t have all day.” I obeyed and went to the room next to his office. He followed and shut the door behind him. I don’t know why he always refused to fuck me in his office, but I wasn’t about to question him. I saw him reach into a cabinet and take out the bottle of lube that he kept hidden way in the back. He set the lube on the examination table, then leaning back casually against the table, he unzipped his slacks and pulled his seven-inch cock through the fly of his plaid boxers. I was always amazed at how thick and floppy it was, even when it was flaccid. I dropped to my knees and took that lovely, fleshy manhood in my hand and gave it a few brief strokes, marveling as always at how quickly he got hard. “What the fuck are you waiting for?” he hissed at me, “Start sucking boy.” I did as he ordered and took his cock into my mouth and started sucking like a madman, hoping to satisfy him so he would give me what I wanted. I slobbered on his dick until it was slick and dripping with my spit. I sucked and stroked him simultaneously, taking every inch, keeping him hard and throbbing, his throaty moans letting me know that I was doing a good job. “Yeah boy,” he said as he started to throat fuck me, “take that fucking cock, suck it like a good boy.” I pulled off him just long enough to say, “Yes sir,” and then swallowed him again, all the way to the base. Loathsome though he was, I still loved sucking him; loved the sweaty taste of his manhood, its thick girth filling my mouth, the nasty, pungent scent emanating from his tangled grey pubic hair. I loved it even though I knew I was a whore for doing this.

After sucking him for about five minutes, I looked up at him and said, “Doc can I please just suck you off today? My ass is sore as hell from a gang fuck this weekend. I promise I’ll let you fuck me for free as soon as I’m healed.” I went back down on him while giving him my best sad-eyed little boy look, hoping he would say yes. He looked down at me with contempt in his eyes. “You miserable little queer,” he said, “I don’t fucking extend credit for this sort of thing. I don’t do it for those lonely and rich wives who come to me every day for Xanax and Seconal, so what makes you think I’ll do it for you?” “But those women pay you cash,” I protested, “that’s different.” He laughed and said, “Cash or ass, it’s all the same to me as long as I get paid.” He pulled me to my feet and shoved me up against the examination table. He got behind me, reaching around my waist to unbutton my jeans. “Please doc, do me a favor, just this one time,” I begged, “I’m so fucking sore back there, please!” He ignored me and pulled my jeans and underwear down to my ankles, baring my ass. “You want your pills boy?” he asked in a menacing tone. Unable to keep the despair from my voice, I reluctantly gave in and said, “Yes please, I need them, just don’t hurt me, okay?” He unbuttoned his shirt, then shoved his own pants and boxers down and I felt his hard cock slap against my ass as he said with a growl, “Bend over, now.” I realized that he didn’t care that I was sore. If I wanted my drugs, I had to let him fuck me. He had power over me, and he knew it. I let my upper body collapse across the table and spread my legs apart to give him better access. “Go ahead,” I said, my voice signaling abject surrender. I desperately hoped he would be quick.

I heard him pop the top of the lube bottle. I looked back and saw him squirt some on his hand before he shoved his fingers up my hole. I clenched my teeth against the raw, stinging pain and tried not to cry out. You can endure this, I told myself, you’ve dealt with worse. I could hear him slicking up his cock, then I felt his hands grab my ass cheeks and spread them apart. “Damn boy,” he said, “you hole looks raw and rough. Those men must have fucked the hell out of you. How many were there?” I felt humiliated. “Twenty or thirty, I guess,” I said, “I don’t really remember.” I heard him chuckle in a beastly manner as he said, “Yeah well, what’s one more to a slut like you, right?” And then I felt the head of his cock pressing against my hole, but before I could prepare myself for the pain, he shoved the entire thing up inside me with a violent thrust. The agony was immediate, and I screamed, “Ow fuck, that hurts!” and he roughly thumped the back of my head saying angrily, “Keep your fucking voice down damn it,” as he started pounding my ass, his thick cock stretching my hole, tearing into my raw flesh, causing it to burn and sting yet again.

He fucked me mercilessly, like he always did. These so-called straight men always fucked like animals, no doubt because they had to suppress their desire for men when they were out in the world. “Damn boy,” he snarled, “I love fucking your sweet ass.” He pulled his cock out and I thought, Oh God, please don’t, and he shoved it back in all at once, ripping into me yet again, fresh pain shooting through my asshole. “Please doc,” I begged, “please don’t do that, it hurts like hell man,” and he responded by doing it again, withdrawing his cock completely and then ramming it back in, over and over, treating me like the whore that I was. I felt tears come to my eyes as he ravaged my hole, hurting me deliberately, because he knew I wouldn’t stop him. He slapped my ass hard, saying “Take it, you drug addicted slut,” as his thick cock continued to destroy my hole. I suppressed the urge to scream from the pain, knowing that it would only anger him, instead muttering helplessly under my breath, “Oh fuck, it hurts, I can’t fucking take it, oh Jesus help me.” He went back to fucking me with a regular thrusting rhythm, but the pain was still there and now I was crying softly, quiet sobs that I was sure he didn’t hear, not that he would have cared if he had. I could feel his fat, hairy belly slapping against me with every thrust.

I felt a new sensation in my lower body and realized my own cock was getting hard, despite my tears, despite the pain and humiliation I was being subjected to. My own body was a willing participant in my degradation; no matter how or why I was getting fucked, whether it was painful or pleasurable, consensual, or not, my cock always responded by getting hard. I was born a slut; it was hard wired into my genes. I reached down and started stroking myself, thinking that if I gave my dick pleasure it would help distract from the pain that my ass was suffering. He noticed me jerking my cock and laughed even as he continued to fuck me. “Yeah, you love getting fucked in the ass,” he said, “don’t you boy? Even if it hurts, right” I said nothing, just kept stroking my cock while I endured the pain in my fuck hole. I was still crying, my ass was still on fire, even though I felt nothing but pleasure coming from my dick. He started fucking me even harder and I started jerking my meat even faster. I knew he was about to cum and sure enough I heard him moan, “Aw fuck yeah boy, you’re gonna make me cum. Yeah boy, here it comes. Take it you fucking queer. Oh fuck, I’m gonna shoot! Take my fucking load bitch!!!” and his cock blasted my hole with a warm, creamy load. I felt him pound even harder as he pumped his cum into my wounded and sore ass. For an older man, he sure could produce a massive amount of spunk. The feel of him cumming in me made me lose it and I jacked my dick furiously as I shot my load all over the ceramic tiled floor. Every thrust of his cock in my hole caused mine to spew more seed until it stopped shooting downward and dribbled on my hand instead. His fucking gradually slowed, and I shook the last bit of cum from my hand onto the floor with the rest of it.

I had stopped crying, though my face was still wet with tears, and I felt blessed relief as he finally pulled out of me, causing my hole to make a wet, slurping sound. He gave me a somewhat affectionate slap on my ass and said, “Damn fine ass like always son.” I sniffled and said, “Thank you sir,” as I stood up straight, feeling his cum leak from my ass and run down my leg. He grabbed some paper towels from a cabinet to clean off his dick, then gave me an incredulous look as he got dressed again. “Are you crying boy?” he asked. I sniffled again, wiping the tears from my face with the back of my hand and nodded. He snorted and said, “Whores don’t cry. Whores do what they’re paid to do.” I looked at his wrinkled, grey face and realized, not for the first time, what an ugly man he was, in every sense of the word and how much I hated my dependence on him. “You hurt me,” I said, “now can I please have what I came for?” “Sure,” he said, his expression a mixture of contempt and indifference. He saw my cum load on the floor, threw a rag at me and snarled, “Clean up that mess while I write your prescription.” He went back to his office, while I got down on the floor and wiped up the cum, then used the same rag to wipe off the cum that had dribbled from my hole and down my leg. I had just finished getting dressed when he came back into the exam room and handed me the prescription. I snatched it from his hands and left his office as fast as I could. As I passed the reception desk, I heard Brenda mutter under her breath, “Fag whore,” and I flipped her off as I shoved the front door open as hard as I could, causing the frame to rattle as I stormed out.

I stayed in a drug and liquor induced haze for the next few days. The only time I would stay sober was when I had to go the gym; even substance abusing sluts need to stay lean and sexy. But as soon as I was done and back in my condo, I would dope myself up again. By Saturday morning though, my hole felt better so I decided to see if it had fully healed. I laid down at the foot of my bed, lubed up my dildo and slowly slid it in my ass. I felt no pain at first, just the initial pleasure that I usually felt, so I pushed it in farther. I still felt no pain and my cock was already responding to what I was doing, so I thought, fuck yeah, all better now and I crammed that dildo all the way up my hole with my right hand, then squirted lube on my left hand so I could use it to jack myself off. I got all the way up on the bed and started fucking myself like crazy. One hand gave pleasure to my ass, the other to my dick. I was on my back with my legs spread, just like I was getting fucked for real. I was so fucking horny as I shoved that dildo in and out of my ass, writhing around and moaning like a slut as I jacked my cock like a horny teenager. Before long, I felt the intensified pleasure in my shaft, the throbbing and pulsing that told me I was about to cum. I fucked myself even harder, loving the feel of it in my ass, wishing it was a real cock. I tried to stave off my orgasm, wanting to keep this pleasure going, but I couldn't hold it, the feeling was too much, and I cried out suddenly and a huge load of cum shot from my cock and splattered all over my stomach and chest. I pumped out more and more creamy spunk until I was covered in it, and I stroked my dick until there was none left and the pleasurable sensation gradually faded and I just lay there, limp, and exhausted, but thoroughly satisfied as I fell into a deep, dreamy sleep.

 I woke up around mid-afternoon and decided I wouldn’t need my usual opioid and liquor combo because I knew that even after pleasuring myself that morning, I would be out again in the evening looking for some real dick and I had to be sober for that. I was definitely ready to get fucked again. Hell, I would have been happy just sucking some cock and taking a load down my throat. After a late afternoon lunch and a cleansing shower, I decided to go to the same park down the street where I had picked up the football player. I’ll be more careful this time, I thought to myself, but that was a lie I used every time to justify my sordid behavior.  I got to the park as daylight was starting to fade, prime cruising time for this location. As I sauntered confidently through the lush greenspace, I saw a police car drive up and pull to the curb along the northern street edge of the park. The two cops inside it didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular; they just sat there in their parked cruiser, chatting with each other, and occasionally surveilling the park. I desperately wanted some cock and pondered going to the bathroom anyway, but I decided that no amount of dick was worth the risk of getting arrested, so I decided to forget my lustful search for now and head back home. I had gone no more than a few feet back towards the park entrance when I realized I need to piss, so I turned back around and headed to the bathroom anyway. I just hoped there was no one in there who would tempt my lustful urges. The familiar scent of stale urine and trash hit me before I even entered. I heard voices when I walked in and one of them sounded older and angry, the other younger and scared. As I was about to round the corner to where the stalls were, I heard the older one say in a vicious tone, “I said suck it you little faggot,” and then I heard what sounded like a teenager’s voice say, “No, no I don’t want to, I changed my mind. Let me out of here, please sir.” I stopped, realizing I had walked in on an encounter gone wrong, then I heard the older man say, “God damned queer,” and I heard what sounded like a scuffle and then the sound of a physical blow and someone’s breath being driven out of him.

I turned the corner and I could see the poor kid was on the floor in the corner, clutching his midsection and gasping for breath. He had obviously fallen when the older man had punched him after the kid had evidently decided not to suck his dick after all. As the guy loomed over him, preventing him from escaping, I heard him growl, “Worthless piece of shit, you don’t fucking say no to me.” and then I heard the distinct sound of a urine stream and I realized right away what that bastard was doing to him.  I heard the kid say in a desperate voice while still struggling to breathe, “No! Stop please! Let me go!” I reacted instantly and without thinking. “Hey,” I shouted, “what the fuck’s going on in here?” The man backed away from the kid and turned towards me, his rather large, hairy cock still hanging out of his ripped, dirty jeans, the piss stream slowing to a trickle, then stopping. He looked scared at first, then relieved that I wasn’t a cop. He had the rough look of a blue-collar laborer, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair, pitted face, cruel eyes and a badly trimmed mustache and beard. I could hear the kid crying now, still on the floor but he had managed to pull himself up to a sitting position, his white long-sleeved t-shirt soaked with the man’s piss. The man tucked his dick away and said, “None of your damned business, okay?” and walked away from the kid, then past me, intent on leaving. He got as far as the sink area near the entrance, but I caught up with him and forcibly spun him around to face me. “You asshole,” I said, “the kid changed his mind about wanting to suck your dick, so you think that gives you the right to hit him and then piss on him?” He gave me a hateful look like he wanted to fight, even though he was roughly the same height as me and had hardly any weight on him. His body odor was foul beyond measure. “What the fuck do you care anyway?” he asked with a nasty grin and a threatening stance, “I mean he’s just a faggot, right?”

I stared at him for no more than two seconds, the anger rapidly swelling in me, then I kicked him in his groin as hard as I could. He gasped in pain and fell to the floor like a dropped sack. He lay on his back, rolling from side to side, holding his crotch with both hands, saying “Oh god, what the fuck man, my nuts man, my fucking nuts.” I kicked him hard in the stomach, causing him to struggle to breathe and, I hoped, rendering him unable to fight back. I dropped down on top of him so that I had his arms pinned to the floor with my legs, straddling his torso so he couldn’t move. I started punching him in the face as hard as I could, every blow that I landed fueled by rage at the type of man he was. “You fucking bastards!” I yelled at him, heedless of the police that were outside, “you’re all the same, every last one of you! Animals, all of you, animals!” I landed a solid hit to his nose and blood started to flow freely down his face, mixing with the blood that was already dripping from his mouth. I pummeled him over and over as he struggled to escape, but I wasn’t about to let him go until I was done. Suddenly, like a light that had been switched off, I stopped. I was lightheaded, breathing heavily as I gazed at the damage that I had inflicted on him, unable to believe I was capable of such violence. He moaned, spit up blood and started pleading with me. “Please man,” he begged, “let me go. Don’t hit me no more, okay?” I thought for a second, then stood up and watched him carefully as he got to his feet, wincing in pain as he did so. I handed him a wad of paper towels to wipe the blood from his face. “Just get out of here,” I said. He nodded and turned to go. “One last thing,” I said. He stopped to listen but didn’t turn around. “If you tell the cops out there what I did to you,” I said, “then I’ll tell them what you tried to do to that boy. Understand?” He spit blood on the floor, then wiped his chin with his hand and said, “Yeah man, no problem,” as he shuffled his way out the door and was gone.

I went back to find the kid and saw that he was still curled up on the floor in the corner by the stalls, sitting on his behind, arms wrapped around his legs, head resting on his knees, crying miserably. “Are you okay kid?” I asked, then realized how stupid that sounded. “No, I’m not,” he said, his voice breaking, “he fucking peed on me!” I felt a wave of sympathy for the poor guy and was heartbroken over what had been done to him. I had to help him, but I wasn’t sure how. “Don’t worry about that bastard,” I said, “I took care of him, he’s gone now.” I reached out to touch his shoulder, trying in some small way to comfort him, but he flinched and shied away from my touch. “Just go away and leave me alone,” he said, his entire body wracked with sobs. “I can’t just leave you here,” I said, “what if some other pervert comes by? Or the cops who are right outside?” “I don’t care,” he said, lifting his head and looking at me, his face wet with tears, his sobbing momentarily under control, “it doesn't matter anyway. My father is going to kill me when he finds out about this. Oh God, why did I come here?” as he hung his head in guilt and shame. I stared at him, then took a deep breath and said, “Listen to me kid, it’s okay. I come here too sometimes.” I paused, then said, “For the same reason you did.”

He raised his head again and looked at me with a somewhat shocked expression on his tear-soaked face. “Really?” he asked. I nodded and smiled. “Yeah, really,” I said. “You mean,” he said, “that you’re uh….” “Gay, yes,” I said. “Wow,” he said. He had stopped crying and I saw relief flood his face, though I could also sense that he wasn’t quite sure whether to trust me or not. I went to the sink and grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser. “Here,” I said as I handed them to him, “clean your face while I go piss, okay?” He gave me a brief blank stare, then unexpectedly smiled, slight though it was. I smiled back and said, “Hey, it’s why I came in here in the first place.” I went to a urinal, drained my bladder, shook my dick clean and came back. He looked at me as I stood over him, his face now dry and clear, though his eyes were still slightly red from crying and I was finally able to get a good look at him. He looked to be in his late teens or twenty at most, with hair that was black, thick, and curly, but neatly trimmed and shaved on the sides. He had somewhat thick eyebrows and dark brown eyes that had a softness about them. His nose was small, perky, and cute and his ears slightly jutted out from the side of his head in a way that was strangely appealing. He had a youthful, but manly jawline that tapered down to a perfectly smooth chin and his lips were sensual, perfectly proportioned and begged to be softly kissed. His skin tone was light tan and he looked like he was of mixed-race parentage, Anglo-Latino most likely. I was awestruck by his beauty, but I had to push that aside for now. I’m involved now, I thought to myself, now what?

On a sudden impulse, I extended my hand out to him. “Come with me,” I said. He looked bewildered and distrustful. “Where?” he asked. “To my place,” I said. “Your place?” he asked in a tone that was both desperate and incredulous. “I can’t go to your place,” he said, “I don’t even know you.” He looked confused, despairing and even a little angry. “I can’t go anywhere,” he said, “I’m covered in piss, my parents think I’m out with friends, what am I going to do?” He looked like he was about to start crying again, which was the last thing on earth I needed to have happen. “Look kid,” I said, “you can’t stay here, okay? It’s getting dark and you don’t want to be in this park at night. And if those cops come in here and see you covered in piss and blood on the floor out front, then we’re both in trouble.” He looked bemused as he asked, “Blood? Did you beat that guy up?” “Yes, I did,” I said, “but don’t worry about that now.” My hand still outstretched, I pleaded with him, saying, “Come with me, please. You can shower at my place while I wash and dry your clothes. Then we can figure out what to tell your parents. Come on kid, it’s just two blocks away.” “How do I know I can trust you?” he asked. “I don’t expect you to trust me,” I said, “but right now I’m your best option.” He looked directly into my eyes, as if searching for some sign, then sighed deeply and said, “Alright.” He reached up, clasped my hand and I helped him rise to his feet.

Now that he was standing up, I was able to see that he was roughly the same height as me, 5’ 9”. Thankfully, it appeared that the man had only managed to piss on his shirt and the top part of his jeans before I had stopped him, missing his face and head. Still, even though it was dark outside, I decided those nasty yellow stains needed covering up for the walk to my place. I unzipped the hoodie that I was wearing, took it off and handed it to him. “Here,” I said, “put this on so those stains are covered.” He hesitated at first, then took it. “What about you?” he asked, “it’s cold and you’re just wearing a short-sleeve t-shirt.” “I’m from New York,” I said, “south Florida cold is nothing to me, really. Now, don’t argue with me, just put it on and let’s get out of here, okay?” He said nothing further as he shoved his arms through the sleeves and zipped it up tight. As we left the bathroom, I looked over at the northern edge of the park and saw to my immense relief that the police cruiser had left. On the way to the park entrance, I glanced over at him. He was looking downward and appeared to be lost in thought and resigned to his fate, at least for now. He caught me looking and attempted a small, nervous smile, then turned inward again. He suddenly chuckled softly to himself and said, “Hell of a way to celebrate a birthday.” Somewhat surprised, I asked, “Today’s your birthday?” He shook his head and said, “No. Yesterday. My eighteenth.” We had exited the park now and turned left, heading north on Collins Avenue, weaving our way through the weekend crowd of jaded locals and irritating tourists. “Happy belated birthday,” I said. Another quick smile from him as he said in quiet voice, “Thanks.” I was silent for a moment, then I asked, “Was this really part of your celebration?” “Yeah,” he said softly, “I figured since I was a man now, age wise at least, that it was time for me to finally have sex with, you know, another man.” “Why there of all places?” I asked. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I didn’t really know where else to go. I’m too young to go to clubs. I can’t ask my parents for advice. They’re hardcore Catholics. They would have thrown a crucifix at me, locked me in my room and told me to pray.” He paused then said, “I had heard rumors about that park, so I figured, why not? But then that guy got all aggressive with me and he smelled bad and when he took his dick out, I got scared, and, well you know the rest.” I didn’t know what to say to him. I couldn’t lecture him on his poor choice of location for his first sexual encounter, especially with a sexual history as sordid as mine. And my sex life had begun more or less the same way. A different city and a college bathroom instead a public park. But basically the same. I looked up and saw that we were at my building. “This way,” I said as I guided him to the front entrance.

We rode the elevator together in silence, but as we ascended to the tenth floor, I could sense his nervousness and fear returning. He tried to hide it, but I could see he was trembling. We entered my condo and he immediately unzipped the hoodie and gave it back to me. I showed him where the bathroom was. “Towels are in here,” I said, pointing to the cabinet against the wall opposite the sink. I pulled the shower curtain open. “Soap, shampoo and conditioner are here,” I said, pointing to the caddy hanging from the shower head. “Go ahead and strip down,” I said, “and I’ll put your clothes in the washer while you shower, okay?” I stood there waiting while he just stared at me, shaking, the fear obvious in his eyes and made no move to get undressed. I felt like an idiot suddenly; this wasn’t some casual trick I had brought over for a quick fuck, but a scared kid who needed my help and who was certainly not going to get naked in front of a total stranger. I smiled and said, “Sorry. I’ll give you some privacy. Just toss your clothes out the door when you’re ready,” and with that, I left the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I went back into the bedroom to look for some clothes he could wear while his were being washed. As I was laying out a pair of loose cotton gym shorts and a t-shirt, I heard the bathroom door open. “Hello?” he called out. I all but ran back to the bathroom and saw his angelic face peering out through the barely opened doorway. His shoes were on the floor and he was holding his clothes out while keeping his naked body hidden behind the door. “Great,” I said as I took them from him. I paused a second and then asked, “You good in there man?” He nodded, then with a small smile, he said, “Thank you for helping me.” I smiled back and said, “No problem. Take your time. I’ll be in the living room, okay?” He nodded again, then closed the door. I heard the shower start up a few seconds later.

I put his clothes in the washing machine, along with the hoodie that I had used to cover him, then went into the living room, turned on the television and sat down on the sofa, wondering what the hell I was doing and why I felt so protective towards a kid I had just met. I also realized that I had no idea what to do next. I never had guests over because I didn’t really have any friends and I didn’t consider my fuck dates as guests and certainly not friends. First things first, I thought to myself. I needed to finish washing and drying his clothes, while at the same time reassuring him that he was safe with me and then figuring out what to do next. I heard the shower stop, then after a few minutes, he came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, a few drops of water still clinging to his beautiful tan skin. He looked shy and uncertain about appearing practically nude in front of a total stranger and I tried not to stare, but his body was gorgeous. He was lean and showing the kind of muscular definition that young men achieve through athletics rather than the gym. He was mostly smooth, except for a sprinkling of dark hair on his arms and legs. His chest was tight, not quite as filled out as a grown man, but getting there. His stomach was as flat as a washboard but lacking a six-pack and his arms and legs had the youthful musculature of a swimmer or gymnast. His nipples were dark brown and perfectly sized and his skin appeared flawless; no tattoos or scars that I could see. He looked like the kind of young beauty that Henry Scott Tuke would have immortalized in a painting.

He caught me staring and smiled, not quite as fearful as before, much to my relief. “Do you uh, have a robe I could borrow?” he asked. I shook my head and said, “No, but I’ve laid out some shorts and a t-shirt for you to wear until yours are clean. Follow me.” I took him into the bedroom and showed him the clothes on the bed. “You and I are about the same size,” I said, “so these should fit.” He nodded and said, “Thanks again man.” He walked over to the bed, picked up the shorts and without warning, unwrapped the towel and dropped it on the floor. He was facing away from me and I just stared openly at the sexiest ass I had ever seen. Perfectly round, firm, and athletic looking, just big enough to fill out a pair of jeans and with the same shade of tan as the rest of his body. He put the shorts on quickly so I only got a glimpse, but the image stayed with me. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, then turned around to face me. “Yeah,” he said, “looks like you were right. They fit just fine.” I nodded while trying not to stare at the considerable dick print that he was displaying through those loose shorts. I did my best to suppress my shameful lust as I focused on his face, smiled and said “Awesome. Let’s go back out front, okay?”

He seemed more at ease now that had some clothes on and realized I was genuinely trying to help him. I guided him back to the living room and showed him the sofa. “Have a seat,” I said, “make yourself comfortable. Are you hungry or thirsty?” He smiled, an amazingly sweet and gentle smile that almost made me fall in love with him right then and there. “Both actually,” he said as he sat down, his voice still somewhat shy, but no longer nervous or scared. I nodded and said, “Cool. I’ll see if I have something that I can make quickly.” I started to head for the kitchen, but then stopped and turned back to him, belatedly realizing that in all this time, I had completely forgotten to ask him the most basic of questions. “What’s your name by the way?” I asked him. “Ricardo,” he said, “but my friends call me Ricky.” “Then I will call you Ricky,” I said. “What’s yours?” he asked. “My name is Thomas,” I said. I smiled at him, once again marveling at how beautiful he was, then said, “Call me Tommy.”

To Be Continued