Donny and Clyde

[Dedicated to Gerry Taylor]

Guilt-free sleep behind him, his morning ablutions completed, Will Dawson made a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and almond milk (it hadn’t gone bad), brewed a whopping mug of Arabica coffee, and sat in his kitchen to read the morning paper. Its crossword puzzle filled out the hour.

Grateful to have the day before returning to classes, he settled at his desk in the house’s finished basement to check his e-mails. Mostly routine, they occupied him for another hour. The Inbox dinged with a new arrival.

Sal wrote, “Call me.”

He did. No answer at Sal’s house. Remembered Sal’s cell.

“There you are,” Sal answered. “Okay?”

“Spiffy. What’s up?”

“What was up’s more the question. Traffic’s a mess. I’m on my way to Gene’s where, to judge from Dick’s call a little while ago, there was quite a scene last night.”

“A scene? I’m all ears.”

“Gene came nowhere near satisfying your Jimmy. Two fucks and he was done for. Called in Dick, whose dick is somewhat larger, and he managed “to calm Jimmy’s butt,” I was told, that is, after a couple of times. He took Jimmy over to his place for the night because Gene was scared he might be called on the middle of the night “if Jimmy got restless.” Dick screwed him again before breakfast, fed him, then dropped Jimmy at the park on his way to work.”

“With some money, I hope.”

“Gene gave him some, too.”

* * * *

The weekend near, Will was made privy to the plot hatched by Gene, Dick, and Sal against Clyde Victor, still floundering in the quicksand of his fabrications. All for it, Donny, still furious and wanting revenge, produced Jimmy – who cared less about the scheme than for the cock Victor would be dealing him and the money he would be paid. The place: the professor’s house.

* * * *

Sounds of latches and locks. The door cracked maybe two inches. Author Clyde Victor eyed the two men – Salvatore Poole and Eugene Claxton – who had come to ferry him across town for “a relief evening with a surprise from a few of your most-dedicated, concerned fans.”

“Is it safe? I can’t handle any more press.”

“It’s only us. We’re parked around the corner. We’ll take the alley out back. No one will see us.”

In the car, Gene toyed with their passenger, “Hope you’re horny, Clyde.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a safe house, real private – where, waiting for you, is one of the most gorgeous young men you’ve ever seen. He’s awestruck by your fame, so we made sure he won’t say a word about your books but will want to make you happy. He’s bought and paid for, although a bit of a novice. Only been with one man. Almost a virgin.” Gene almost laughed at his straight-faced lie.

Sal added, “You can let yourself go. We’ll drop you off and disappear.”

“How will I get home?”

How dense is this goon?

“Call a cab, or ask James to order one for you. By the way, only call him James. That’s the deal. James.”

Moths were darting at Dawson’s front light when they pulled up. A nervous Clyde Victor rang.

Jimmy, in light blue polyester shorts only, swung wide the door with the cheeriest possible, “Hi!”

Clyde Victor did not look back. Like a larger moth to a more incandescent flame, he flew directly inside.

“This is a Bellini – peach juice and Italian bubbly,” the vision said, handing Clyde a flute. “They told me you’d like it.”

“My favorite, but I guess you know that because my heroine, Christine, drinks them when she’s getting in the mood.”

“Not supposed to talk about books. I promised.”

They sat, Jimmy in the middle of the sofa, silky smooth legs apart just enough to tantalize, Clyde in an armchair. Gulping when he should have been cautious.

“I’m so new to all this, I don’t understand very much.” Some swelling remained around Jimmy’s eye and an area of dark purple – covered by matched pancake makeup. Under the stimulating circumstances, not noticeable.

His nipples, his lips…Clyde’s mouth accepted the rest of the Bellini.

Jimmy smiled, “I’ll get you another. Stay right there.”

His exit provided butt-hungry Clyde Victor with the sight of mobile buns moving under flexing blue. His most private part was becoming more prominent. Shifted to adjust there.

In Dawson’s garage, watching the A/V feed being recorded from the living room’s micro-camera, Gene turned to Sal, “Oscar material already.”

Improvising with what later would be called “sheer brilliance,” Jimmy returned, refilled flute in hand, approached Clyde’s chair to sit on one upholstered arm. He said, “Let me serve you,” and lifted the glass to Clyde’s mouth already-open mouth. “Sip this time, a little, and you can feel my thigh. You want to, don’t you?”

Clyde groped and sipped. Stroked from knee to unrestrained genitals. Almost choked in his effort to sip while feeling tender balls and throbby young cock.

“There, drink the rest…” Jimmy moved to the sofa “…and come over here.”

Unnoticed, vodka in each of his two Bellinis had added to their Prosecco’s effect, so that Clyde’s rousing himself from the armchair looked comical. He plunked beside the boy and immediately leaned toward soft lips which beckoned. His kiss returned, he fumbled around Jimmy’s chest for a nipple while kissing chin, neck, and shoulder.

His hair was caressed, his ears rubbed as hands encouraged his mouth lower. By the time Clyde could tongue the boy’s chest, the author’s deft hands had begun to thrust off those blue shorts. Freed, Jimmy’s erection stood fully ready.

With “Oh, James,” the evening’s prey changed position to kneel in front, a worshipper to be. Swiftly he drew away the shorts, parted Jimmy’s legs, and bent to take between his lips the small, inflamed head – savoring it with his tongue. He lapped at its circumference, moving to consume the cock from tip to base and sliding its firm length multiple times.

A glance and smile at the camera, Jimmy pushed the man away, reversed himself – knees on the sofa, backside thrust outward – and was heard to say, “You really want to make me yours? Then kiss me here, rim me. Show me how much you want in my ass.”

Unplanned, bold – another improv!Jimmy’s observers gasped. Neither had any idea whether Clyde would do it.

He did. But sniffed first. Nothing unpleasant. A slight smell reminiscent of lavender soap and boyish perspiration. Tentatively, he tested his tongue’s tip to the 0-shaped ring. Needed to be closer if he must penetrate. Earnest, Clyde used his hands to pull apart the glutes. Succeeded in tickling the hole. It occurred to him to tickle the boy’s balls. He let go to tug them toward his mouth – his nose landed in the crack, on target as his tongue swept across the pair’s pouch.

Jimmy squealed, “You almost made me cum! God, you’re hot! Let’s fuck. In the bedroom, c’mon!”

Quickly, the garage team switched to the other camera – in time to hear Jimmy tell Clyde to “leave the lights on, so we can see each other.”

And so we can see both of you.

In his state of undress, Clyde did not cut a bad figure. What stood forth from his loins cut a good one. It grew under his right hand’s jacking motion to what those witnessing reckoned at eight inches. He seemed to be waiting for Jimmy’s twisting about to settle down while admiring all of what he contemplated.

The appearance of near innocence. This boy’s behavior, rather bossy, could be dealt with.

I’ll tame his ass. I’ll rip him a new one. He’ll remember me. He’s blinking his eyes. My cock – he’s beginning to realize what a man I am!

Jimmy put his hands behind his head on Will’s pink pillow case, exposing his developing chest and prominent nipples.

A male version of Goya’s ‘Naked Maja,” inviting ravishment!

“Do you fuck boys a lot?”

“What?”

“If you fucked anybody like me before, how did you do it? Did it hurt him much? Tell me how you want to do me. I don’t know what will please you, but that’s why I’m here. Please.”

Clyde steamed. Coolly, he said, “Lift your legs, James. Hold them back.”

Jimmy felt knuckles under his balls, tracing the delicate seam between them and his most intimate spot. He shivered. Fingers stroked the bottom of his sac with maddening delicacy, then took them in hand and applied pressure.

More pressure.

Jimmy drew a sharp breath.

“I’ll tell you what I did if you don’t make much sound.” He released the balls and slapped Jimmy’s cock.

There was no sound except that of the slap. He slapped harder and pressed his thumb onto Jimmy’s taut perineum.

“I fucked a boy, a whore-boy like you.”

His thumb and forefinger cupped Jimmy’s balls at their base and did the same with his cock – and pulled enough to get a facial reaction.

“Drilled him good. When he didn’t like it, I’d twist an arm until he caved, and screw him harder.

Liked the way he winced when I did this to him.” Clyde’s left hand slapped Jimmy’s tightly held balls. “You wince just like him.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened, not at the pain, at Clyde’s spit splatting directly on his big dick, being smeared and added to by another mouthful.

“Fancy boy, you’re just another piece of meat to me like that cheap whore, Donny. A piece of meat with feelings. Feel this!” He drove non-stop, mercilessly bottoming out to Jimmy’s on-cue anguish and drama-mask tragic face – as if stricken by searing pain.

Actually, Jimmy had enjoyed the ball-play, and loved being rammed. Flushed his pores of fresh sweat. Revved his brain.

Thinking the contrary, Clyde laughed. “Told you to shut up, kid. You’ve got to take it, so here’s some more.” A ratchet back, a jab deep followed. Hard-paced, the author’s use of Jimmy-as-meat, began. And he began talking about how clever he had been to “fuck the dumb shit blind that night then, next morning, to make love to his ass like I cared.”

Wrapped in what he thought he was doing to Jimmy and his recall of how he had fooled his trick to “get reaction material for a new book – you know, without having to pay extra,” Clyde went into an account of how he’d turned the yogurt event into “some trouble for that hustler, trouble he’ll regret.”

Blood rushed to Jimmy’s head, to his lean flanks where Clyde was sheathed in their center’s passive tightness. “Turns you on to hear about this, I can tell,” he gloated, paused for a second. He drove his thick spike into what, for him, was only a fuck hole but which was a cleverly set trap.

Exquisite contractions gripped and released him. Shoved away, James insulted him with, “Git off me! You ain’t wearing no condom!”

Sounded like Donny! Identical inflection, word choice.

Preparing to force the issue, Clyde took aim at the ass that had been his – only to be deflected by a new sight. James stripped open a condom and placed it in his mouth suggestively. Clyde’s balls were in one of the boy’s hands which tantalized and directed him toward the opening.

A kind of kiss – of cock, not tongue, in an osculating well he could not resist. Held back by arms stronger than imagined, Clyde’s pelvis advanced into the mouth he had not thought to enter. Two-thirds of the way in, speculation about the technique being displayed raised more doubt about this supposed near-virgin. Clyde thought he might take over, cram in the rest. Teach the smartass a lesson.

No chance of that. Jimmy shoved him again, kicked wide his legs in obvious readiness to be fucked. The sudden act threw him another curve.

This pussy’s in heat – for me!

The glob of spit landed on the well-protected cock. Its producer spread it and another, to the boy’s eyes no doubt a sign of ease or comfort ahead.

Jimmy was bored into summarily. His attacker saw the boy’s nose wrinkle, exposing his upper teeth. Meeting no resistance, he bore more intensely, determined to cause harm.

His self-important little world exploded. Paroxysms of multiple muscle groups – Jimmy’s widespread legs snapped against Clyde Victor’s butt, his inner tract had a seizure, his pelvis executed a whip-like twist – all so fast, so unexpected that a cataclysmic orgasm was wrested from him with instant hurt. Violent red flashes claimed his vision before the blackness came on.

Faux-benign, Jimmy spoke in hushed tones, “Hey, man, I thought you wanted to fuck me. C’mon, show me whatcha got.”

Outrage grew with consciousness. On the rebound, Clyde Victor jumped from the bed to jerk and twist the challenging boy’s ankles until the kid was sprawled face-down. With more saliva for his own good, he doused his condom-clad, veiny cock. The collection of sperm dangling off its end was disgusting. Quietly, he slipped off the offending latex and leapt into the boy’s breach to skewer its glistening, reddened hole.

My lube!

A breathtaking, cum-enabled entry. Jimmy gulped – music to Clyde’s ears. Hands took the boy’s wrists and pushed them far. Satisfied he had the boy pinioned, he launched this fuck deep-poling the way gondoliers push into the mud of Venice’s Grand Canal. No reaction apart from the sound of air entering and leaving two sets of lungs. The rutting man was in heaven for minutes, having his way with inert, slack Jimmy.

Suspicion rose. He’s planning something.

On time, a shudder in reply to a particularly vigorous thrust catapulted Clyde to climax. He spewed uncontrollably five or six times at full depth into lascivious receptivity. Tapered off, heavily breathing. Lay atop the body which was still as a corpse.

Through the fog of post-coital inertia, Clyde heard, “Go on, fuck me some more. That wasn’t much. Aren’t you up to it?”

* * * *

Two figures had slipped into the Garage to join Sal and Gene – the homeowner and Donny Timms. They were in time to see Clyde collapse and to hear Jimmy needling him.

“Damn, my little brother’s up to it, ain’t he?” Admiration was in the question. “You tol’ me he was, old man.” Donny felt Will’s bicep and shook it. His “damns” petered out as the tryst began to take new shape.

* * * *

Clyde felt the corpse pumping back and forth against his dispirited groin. As if clairvoyant, Jimmy Timms said, “You dead up there or something?”

Florid with a creeping sense of shame, Clyde opted for silence in-place, soaking with perspiration, wishing he had recourse to his strength.

“You come back to life, you fuck me. ’Til then, tell about how you’re gonna turn the ruckus with Donny into a book. It might get you hot again. Did before.” Jimmy performed a little internal massage on the deflated yet substantial piece of meat lodged in his unsated rectum.

The outlet Clyde Victor needed to salve his conscience. Was anything better than to talk about himself and his plans?

Five witnesses outside hung on his every word while Jimmy endured, for the duration, the man’s weight. As the sordid tale wound down to touches of pride in Clyde’s voice, Jimmy nudged him off.

“You hate Donny. Why?” Jimmy asked as he got up to shower away the stink. “Don’t bother to answer. Put your clothes on ’n’ get out of here. The taxi’s number’s on that piece of paper,” he pointed, “and the address. You’ve had all you’re gonna have from me. And wait out front.”

Deadpan delivery.

* * * *

Exposé! Clyde Victor had been trounced in an unpredictable way, ganged up upon by all the players involved. Confounded by their evidence and dreadfully fearful of what might be done with it, he held his head in dismay. That is, until he was handed a way out.

He wrote the new book, its details of plot and paragraph structure at every stage of development examined by critical eyes to make certain of literary marketability.

The process strengthened the regrouped author’s relationship with the publisher of his previous novels. The new novel’s strongly-limned intergenerational characters, twists in and among popular and iffy gender issues, tolerably seething eroticism, soupçons of humor – all elements for advertising material and to lure reviewer’s attentions – resulted in excellent notices, sales, and royalties.

The distribution of royalties, by contract, was curiously proportioned: sixty-one percent to the author; thirty-nine percent divided equally among his consultants, Dr. Wilfred William Dawson, Donald Paul Timms, and James Lester Timms – listed as residing together. Acknowledgments included the author’s gratitude to Messrs Salvatore Xaver Poole, Bertram Eugene Claxton, Richard Milhous Watson, and “two anonymous sources within a noted municipal police force.”

* * * *

The brothers Timms counted their blessings financial and residential.

“That’s it, then – we’re gonna?”

“Damn right. Least we can do.”

“I owe you, too, Donny, for getting’ me outta Pa’s way. Ain’t forgot that.”

“Can I fuck you?” Donny’s question was facetious.

“I’d let you, only it wouldn’t be anything to brag about. You ain’t got what I need, but you and me’ve got what Will really loves.”

“Yeah, best asses in the world.”

From the start of their life together at the old man professor’s, Jimmy and Donny had figured they owed Will Dawson big time.

No “john” of Donny’s had trusted him ever with a house key, but Will did, albeit with one eyebrow raised. Nor was Will censorious about Donny’s career as a hustler. Through it, they had met. So, Donny continued to hustle when not looking for other work. Did not really like hustling but was good at it, the means of his having enough to cover expenses while shopping around for a job.

At home, Donny’s ass was Will’s when he wanted it or when Jimmy was “on the rag.” Only, no kissing.

Ass therapy! – best thing in the world for me at my age, Will doted.

Will called Donny “Don,” even “son;” Donny, on his own, began calling Will “boss-man” or just “boss.”

As long as there was no kissing.

Jimmy tempered his prodigal sexuality to suit Will “down to a T, carefully crossed,” the man told friends. Because. Jimmy. Loved. Will. After his fashion. Was never going to last. For Jimmy’s affliction was sexual wanderlust. He wanted men to want him, wanted to travel and to be kept – yet at Will’s behest he attended evening classes toward his high school equivalency, a G.E.D. degree.

Behest was a word chosen for its mildness. Think mandate. Will’s control factor resided in his control, through welcome discomfort and thrilling occasional pain, of the sex they had together. Times Jimmy thought of during the build-up to having his epiglottis flooded with cum while being forced to hold his breath and not daring to upchuck or to listen to harshly issued orders not to move a muscle while his nipples were being pulled and pinched and his ass reamed viciously included the first occasion when Will pressed his ankles down, crossed on his pubic bone and fucked him with abandon and another when Will doubled him, knees beside his ears, and fucked his ass from a position standing above. Pain always became acute pleasure when administered through sex.

From his landlord-overseer’s perspective, Will Dawson ruled Jimmy Timms with a firm hand, denying his lover affectionate torment often enough to stimulate his desire by asking for “Don in my bed tonight.” Via his double outlet at home, Dr. Dawson greeted his students and colleagues, even administrators, freshly charged at the University on teaching days and in meetings. Emotionally charged, in fact elated. Physically, fucking the way he did as often as he did insured deep sleep from which he emerged full of energy.

“The guy’s brain is getting more remarkable,” jealous faculty members had to admit. Evaluations ranked him tops. He won a prestigious award for excellence in teaching, modestly acknowledged as owed “to certain students who proved to be inspirations beyond the ordinary.”

* * * *

Extra-ordinary was typical.

The sensitive, nerve-dense, pleasure-yielding bulb surmounting Will Dawson’s ample penis expanded in response to the surface friction ever-present in its passage over the inner ridges of his two boys’ asses. With tight-drawn scrotum and fierce tumescence, he felt like a deity, all-powerful, an image of dominance confronting visions of submission, either of which could be called on to demonstrate acceptance and cooperation – Don with crude, exciting words from the gutter; Jimmy with supple shivers and potent pelvic evasions.

Rapid rhythmic pulses – of heartbeat and lance-sharp penetrations – gathered momentum and threatened the vortex of orgasm with urgent frequency. Fortitude, a quality developed by the intellectual’s academic mental training, could be summoned to gird the onrush as well as any cockring or other appliance. Fortitude’s application sent waves of cold and hot through him while chilling, heating, thrilling, and calming his occasion’s partner.

* * * *

Postscript

Jimmy Timms pursued his career-choice with good-will guidance from Will Dawson. Sexual grapevines led Will and his buddies to work through various hurdles separating their world from the greater world of porn on Jimmy’s behalf. Once hailed as “The Great New Discovery – JIM TIMMS!” that he was, Jimmy starred in videos shot in studios, attics, and basements in San Francisco, New York, White Plains, Paris, Prague, and Kyoto. Once in Qatar.

Ear studs and navel jewels (pasties), nipple rings (clamp-type, removable), bindings (rope, tape, chains), harnesses (custom-made), tattoos (washable decals), whip lashes and belt stripes (makeup), spanked buns (as often as called for, real) – appealed to thousands of deprived and depraved men globally. Increased the star’s popularity with those segments of the market (and stimulated certain of his well-equipped tops).

Protected, exploited by a big-time producer, Jimmy excelled as “Porn’s most sensational bottom” (The Village Voice) and “Conqueror of cocks” (Vanity Fair). When he won the Golden Butt award in Las Vegas, his speech of thanks cited Will Dawson as “the man who got me started.”

Don Timms used his income from Clyde’s book to stay off the streets. Once he became an electrician’s assistant, he drifted into contact with a girl named Lindsey, fell in love with her, and they married. Lindsey bore Don twin boys before discovering that their neighbor-friend Nilda, who helped with the babies, had special attractions.

Lindsey and Nilda became lovers. In disgust, Don fled upstate, abandoning parental responsibility.

“Them lesbians can raise the boys for all I care.”

Eventually, a single contact with old man Dawson revealed the above information.

It ended with Don’s observation, “What the fuck would of happened if I never met Clyde?”

NB: This story’s author wishes to express immeasurable thanks for their helpful contributions to two authors of great experience & generosity, in chronological order: MCVT & JAMES ROZO.

Your evaluation of and comment upon this story will help me to know the degree to which my work may have interested, perhaps pleased you.