He Touched Me

“ Gaawwd”, his head thrown back, arms out, palms up, that mystical voice, “Gaaawwwwd” we know YOU are with us. God, we know your hand is in everything”......    Nice to know I had that personal, physical touch from or with the deity working through the hand of man. At least, that's what I guess it was in my pocket, the hand of God made manifest in the person of Brother Bill. Or, as he was called by many who “worked/volunteered” their service unto the Lord, again manifested as Brother Bill, Brother Bull. It was the third service of the day and so was time for a miracle, I being the miracle. Myrtle was ready to serve as surrogate mother/wife/girlfriend and push my rickety wheel chair to the front of the crowd, wholly “unexpected” by Brother Bill but screaming that he had to help this poor pitiful man, dying before the company...Really, she missed her calling as an actress but...all those pictures of her in compromising positions had made the rounds of the studios before she did. I understand she continued to give great performances as...the woman his wife never knew about or....the mother of a fatherless child....or the “other” woman so often referred to in Confidential. Yep, old Myrtle did miss her calling but as the real time wife of Brother Bill-a fact that few knew-her artistic skills were still useful and much appreciated by a bamboozled audience and, sometimes, even me as the dying man about to be saved.    

Because some followers of the good Brother tended to fire up the flivver and follow us from town to town, I could only be the dying man every so often, however effectively I did it. Indeed as I looked to my side and saw the “ushers” who were about to not be able to restrain Myrtle and me on our wild ride to the podium, I could see two or three other “dying men” who, dressed like professional undertakers, would never be recognized by crowds who might have seen and heard about their sin and resurrection. Just to pep it up, we varied the “sin” from place to place upscaling it as we got closer to cities where what shocked the rubes in the country would only have caused the city folk to yawn. Also, I , too, was primarily used in the more urban areas, I had more the look of the “forgotten man”, the man out of work, used to fighting in the street for money or bread, rangy of build, poorly cut hair, tautly muscular but emaciated-sometimes hard to maintain that look. Food is food and, like other animals, I needed to eat. But my biggest selling point was an almost Angelic face, once it was properly made up, properly lit and displayed to the throng who, at that point, were too hysterical to notice that sweat was causing the circles below my eyes to wash away. Also, by then, I would be on the ground where I'd “fallen” from my chair just as Myrtle collapsed-to be “helped” away by an usher while she flailed, screaming at that this forced separation from her “man”. Clutching Brother Bills legs, I climbed him like a ladder to heaven as I was “restored” to whatever I needed restoring from or to; Sometimes Brother switched scripts in the middle of the performance and I had to follow the bouncing ball, just like at the motion picture show, not quite knowing what was coming next. But where we were going was a given, an absolute. The follow spots would all play on just the two of us-this bit worked better at night and was only done for “late” prayer services-me almost upright, almost walking, him exhorting God, or someone, to make me stand and be a man once again..and there it would end, me upright, leaning backward against him-one foot back to be carefully braced-all our arms outstretched, tears-or sweat-on our faces, looks of amazing gratitude for this miracle and as he drew his arms toward Him, screaming at me to walk...all the lights would go out and I'd high tail it behind a scrim so when the place was lit again, Brother was on the ground but I was gone or had ascended or both. Depended. The lights came up only on the audience/congregation and that was exactly when the gentlemen “ushers” passed through with baskets on long handles accepting tribute in the form of cash for, I guess, some sort of assurance that they, too, had been spared or saved or, given the clever text Brother used, forgiven whatever their sin that only they knew about.    

It was great crowd control and, because he never really solicited money, left cynics to deal with the fact that what people gave was as close to a free will offering as was likely to be. He never said he didn't keep the money, he never promised to open an orphanage in Kankakee or distribute food among the needy or provide shelter for the homeless, he never promised anything so if you gave a dime or a dollar, where it went and whatever good it did was only in the imaginings of the donor. Bill was clever in oh so many ways, never went for a “following”, never worked a circuit just went to smaller places that lacked entertainment and had more than five churches. Another ploy of his was to follow one of the many smaller circuses that worked the very junior circuit, the virtue there was that locals had just put up-and taken down a tent so it was easier to get that done. Bill was not a Bible thumper but presented himself as a man devoted to God and if those in the congregation felt so moved, they could be closer to God as well. The underlying reason for all this was to stay away from any perceived wrong doings or accusations of people being fleeced out of money for nonexistent prospects. A day or two before our “services” were to commence, he'd visit some of the larger churches in the town, speak with their pastors and explain he was not there to bleed their congregations, indeed he felt his job for Jesus was to shake up and wake up some of these good Christian folk who had been asleep in the pew, make them better church members, in a sense, he wanted these men to see him as adjunctive to their work. He stressed that he didn't hold meetings, if at all possible, when services were regularly held and, this was a huge selling point, while he did take up a collection, there was no solicitation of funds, he understood the oath of poverty a man of God took and wasn't there to deprive them of their incomes. For all that this sounded good, well meaning, true, not every one was convinced. They were civil to him but no more. Later, when they found what he'd said was true, it was made clear to him that he could return, some time in the future and, in some places, a modest bidding war broke out as to which church would sponsor him; On the return visit the take at the gate quadrupled for this time, he had books to sell, slides of the Holy Lands, book markers, all the usual religious trash that is sold everywhere from Brother Bills tent show to the Grotto at Lourdes.    

After my dramatic exit to wherever the congregation thought I'd gone, I jumped in a waiting car and we drove to the railroad siding where Brother Bill kept three Pullmans and three freight cars, one open for the tent, for all the people and the various parts that made the show what it was and also made it so that if things turned nasty, we could get up a head of steam and not only across the county line but, with a little run, across a state line as well.    

That happened very infrequently and, on two occasions, we found the instigators had been sent by other “ministers of the cloth” who had their own shows and as they were following us, needed to come in as the one, the true, the real and the only way to do that was to besmirch our reputation. My favourite time was the one where, in advance, we recognized them as they took their seats in the audience. Brother Bill was tipped and, as the performance went on, he went to the guys from our competition, just as if they were any other attendees, had them stand up and then began a liturgical grilling of them-the auto da fe would have been proud-until who they were and what they were doing there was revealed. Before this could happen, the “gentlemen ushers” had hurried through the town to attract the local clergy not to mention the sheriff. Brother Bill was almost canonized on the spot and the gents from elsewhere had weights tied to their ankles, were seated on the top point of a split, sharply pointed rail and ridden, roughly, out of town. Who knows, they may still have been fertile after their ride.    

Back in the Pullman, I stripped off my clothes, washed down with cool water, dried myself and got in bed waiting for act two. Usually I could get a good hour or two of solid sleep before I heard the click of the door as it opened and sense the heavy smell of Bill in the room. “You were good tonight, real good, yessir, you and Myrtle otta put that up on the big stage...make a mint.” He slid out of his coat. “It'll cool off once we get to moving.” I rolled over and looked at him and pushed down the sheet. “The usual I guess?” He'd get all flustered and looked angry as if I was leading him to sin when the truth was otherwise. “Go get the collection bucket, I got a fee you pay me, I'm a working man and I didn't get a cut of that malarkey we did out there so before you drop your galouses, get the money and I'll take something for a rainy day. He wasn't happy to have to share but I knew I could make him happy, real happy and he'd forget what it had cost. I guess it made him feel good cuz as left he looked right at me and said, “You're a whore, a he whore, that's what you are....” So what? Only person to whom that seemed to matter was him and he was the one going to get the money to pay me.    

Pop always made sure we lived in a clean, safe place. May have been a one story walk up but no bathrooms down the hall, good steam heat, locks on the doors, the place had furniture and looked like a home. We moved fairly often but this had more to do with people who moved in or trouble in the neighborhood and as the depression deepened, this happened more and oftener and as people got turned out for not paying. He was determined to keep me safe, close to a school and some place where I could get good healthy food when I got out of school at night. He'd find some clean cafe, go in, introduce himself, introduce me and make a deal with the manager to make sure I ate a square meal, paid for them by the week. Depending on how long we were around, I got to know the people in the little cafes and, when it got dark early, they'd let me have a table in the back to do my home work, even gave me a job on week ends helping out. I became a “regular” there and the people who came in got to know me as did the cook, the waitress, the cashier, I was part of the place after a while. Every penny counted and when I could pay for my own food, Pop would just be proud of me and tell me that one day knowing how to keep yourself up would be important. Couple of places I liked real well, nice people, good school and about that time, in Pop's mind, something happened and we'd move. Chicago was suffering as many major cities did with sudden unemployment caused by the depression, people roaming the streets looking for odd jobs or a hand out and, the most depressing, whole families who, if they were lucky had a car for shelter. But many of these people were angry, willing to rob and fight for what ever they thought they could get and it was that sort of person, or groups of persons, who'd show up and we'd be on the move again.    

I guess I was around fourteen when some guy came up to me in the cafe and offered me two bits to step into the bathroom with him. Manager heard that and ran him out but also told Pop, thought he ought to know his kid was attracting attention and a few more things.    

That was that, we moved and Pop got even more strict about where I went, what I did; Now instead of dropping by a cafe on my way home, I went there in the morning, ate breakfast, went there after school and stayed there until he could get home and collect me. He meant well but...it was a little too much protection and, besides, there was another problem that, finally, I had to tell him.    

It was easy to talk to him, wasn't anything he didn't know, good, bad, sin or anything else and he was probably too open in what he talked to me about, particularly his work. He ran a tattoo parlor in one of the arcades near Dearborn Station and had a good trade. He'd learned his craft as an apprentice, not by just buying a gun, some flash and setting up. His shop was clean, windows shined and he did not do drunks or anyone he thought was too young. He was so good that he had a small but important reputation in the tattooing community, he got referrals from as far off as the West Coast, Philadelphia, New Orleans and he sent people to them. Also, he was well positioned by intention. He said,always be where the silk stocking trade can find you when they're out to do something they think of as wicked or shocking. He figured any station that had the 20     th      Century Limited arrive everyday was better than others. Whether he was right or not, who knows but he made enough to always make sure we had a good place to live, clothes, food, heat, electricity and, my favorite, a radio.    

Telling him what was on my mind was about the toughest thing I'd ever done but I had to do it. Starkly put, I thought I liked men more than women, the guy who offered me money had done so because I'd kinda indicated I'd go with him. Pop sat and stared out in space and thought.     “     Well, that's a different load of poles, ain't it. You actually done anything with a man?”     I could honestly say that I hadn't but...I'd thought about it, heard, kinda, what went on but didn't know what to do. He looked at me. “You want to try it with a man? See what it's all about?”    Well, I hung my head, tried to think but in a low voice said I thought I'd better cuz if I was wrong....    “     Ya, kid, that's good thinking. Let me work on it...” and that was the end of that for then. I felt better for telling him and, truth to tell, now that I'd told, not as interested in fellas as I had been. Not that I didn't think about them but it was better knowing Pop wouldn't mind if I did.    

One thing about Pop's work and where it was...he met all kinds who did everything good and bad. Tho it never came to my mind, he probably knew men who had sex with men, would be able to ask around, get some answers. His work and the atmosphere and the people who surrounded him made what would to others seem evil or wrong, but they were just part of the usual crowd, probably find their equals in any place in a big city where people with other things on their minds besides going to the market after work hung out.    

Couple of the guys were the self-appointed guards for the arcade. They'd been in the great war and when the depression hit, were out of a job. Nice guys, Pop let them stay in his back room which had a bunk bed, full bathroom with shower and toilet so they were clean as they did their rounds. Some of the time they spent in the cafe-that would become a tavern when prohibition ended, but now was a corner cafe. There was one pretty waitress on whom both the guys were sweet and, when they could get some money, they'd take turns taking her out. Most of the businesses pitched in a half dollar or a bit more every week and the cafe not only gave the most of their meals free but hired them to clean up after they closed. I didn't get down to his shop very often-by his design-but when I did, the two guys, Ham and Joe, were assigned to see nothing happened to me. Nice guys, always telling me what a great guy my dad was, how good he was to them....so I didn't understand why they couldn't get a job or do something. Dad simply said that the war changed them, they'd been gassed in the trenches but they were better now than they had been....and dropped it.    

Couple of weeks later Pop came by the cafe real early, thanked them, asked to have some food boxed up for us to take home and explained to me he'd invited a friend home to dinner. I guess I was surprized because even though I knew he had friends, he talked about the people who stopped by the parlor or he knew from the arcade, but I'd never really met any of them so this was a first. I asked, of course, but all he said was this was a man he wanted me to meet, might have some advice for a career. I'd never thought about a career, somehow I just assumed that as soon as I was old enough, Pop would apprentice me to him and eventually I'd be a tat artist.    

Jack was waiting outside our building and, straight away, I could see he didn't look like the kind of man who hung around tattoo parlors or arcades. Better dressed than the school superintendent and looked more like someone from a billboard. But friendly, real friendly. Good voice, you could hear the laughter in it, greeted us, Pop introduced us, told me Jack would talk to me while he got supper on the table and pretty much left us alone while he went into the kitchen.    

He got straight to it. “Your father tells me you may have an interest in men, you've never done anything but you're curious...that about sum it up?”    I gulped but looked right at him. “Yes, Sir, I've asked by men to do certain things, never did but I can't say I wasn't curious.”    Pop returned, looked at Jack who gave him the high sign, so he said he was gonna go to the cafe and he'd be back later, just open a shade when it'd be convenient. And he was gone.    

“     Your Dad's a fine fellow, fine fellow indeed. Met him when I was coming in from New York with a trick who wanted some ink, asked around, and that's how I met your father. When I took my John to him to get himself a tattoo.”    I guess I looked puzzled.    Jack laughed and said, “Guess you'd better learn the lingo...a trick is someone who's paying you to do this and that, sorta like a John but they're more short term. You'll get familiar with all this if you need to and, son, that's why I'm here. I sell my body to men for sex, I'm a whore, a male prostitute and I guess your Dad thinks that's what you want to be, or so he said.”    

That set me back only because although I'd never thought of it in very specific terms, it was on my to do list. So much so that I got hard within seconds of his saying the words. He smiled. “Strip, lets see what the merchandise is....” For whatever reason I wasn't embarrassed, just anxious to do what he asked to the point that I forgot to take off my shoes before I pulled off my pants which delayed things a bit. And then I stood there.    

He let out a long, low, appreciative whistle. “How old are you son...for real?”         “     Bout 14 I guess....I'm about to graduate to High School....”        “     How about graduating to some high stakes and making some real money? That sound good enough to put school off for a while?” He stood up, stripped himself, held up his cock and said...”This is a money maker and you got one just like it...younger, we'll have to keep the hair clipped but I can see you have a bright future. But first things first, ever sucked a mans dick? Take it in the ass?” Well, the answer was no but I could find no strong reason to be against what he seemed to be proposing. He reached over and stroked my solid stalk. “Want me to teach you? You sure? No turning back once you're in the trade....”    

I thought about it for a minute. What lay ahead? The Tattoo Parlor? Getting inked up so I could, eventually follow my Dad? He did alright, but...trapped in that glass fronted box, showing off himself and his customers...it wasn't for me. I didn't know this was either but...I looked in him face and he was smiling. “Yeah, I'm sure.”         “     We gotta take some time to teach you what you don't know, how to play the game, how to make money but first thing is...we gotta get you outta here, someplace where you and I can work together without bothering your old man. I don't think he's gonna care....”    

And he didn't. Helped me pack up the few things I had, gave me a hug, told me he loved me, to stay in touch and to do whatever Jack told me. He guessed I'd be real good at it...    

Out on the street Jack looked in vain for a taxi but in this part of town, you weren't likely to find one, not even in the daytime. Our street was solid cheap apartment houses, here and there a grocery store, a laundry, some other businesses but none that would have need to have a taxi circling waiting for their customers. Knowing the way, I picked up my bag and started walking toward a major cross street, best thing I knew, catch a bus downtown and then...Jack caught on and said I'd learned a lesson, don't spend money when you don't need to. The bus would be great.    

We ended up at Dearborn Station, where the Santa Fe came in. He had a real clever way of handling it, had me get up in a car and then come forward and get off where he pretended to meet me just as if I was his son who was arriving from...somewhere. Gave me a big hug, picked up my case and said we'd be warmer back at the hotel, he'd called to tell them his kid was arriving and to move him into a slightly better room and to put out extra towels. Waving off a red cap, he snagged a taxi and said the name of a hotel I'd never heard of but, apparently, the driver had as we headed out. In the taxi he kept up the fiction about my just arriving, how was the family, gee it was good to see me, did I now how much I'd been missed, shit like that. But...he did it so perfectly that I almost believed it, almost answered and told him the family was great, missed him a lot but before I could do that we pulled up to a fairly grand looking place, door man, bright lights inside, clearly quite a palace. He tipped everyone well and we went in.    

Immediately I felt shabby, ashamed, as if I didn't belong there. All around were people dressed up, moving about, going somewhere. Jack walked to the reception and with the same enthusiasm introduced me as his son, apologizing for my slightly hayseed appearance but, from what he remembered of Kansas, this was pretty good, we'd get some new clothes in the morning...The people behind the desk all seemed happy for him, said things like how happy they were he finally got his son, they knew what I meant to him etc. Two minutes later we were upstairs in the finest room I'd ever seen. Warm, carpet, beds, dresser, big closet, chairs....Jack just smiled and said...”this is what you can have if you want to earn it...”. He took off his coat hung it up, took my bag, opened it, said, “yes, shopping, tomorrow...absolutely” and then remembered that neither of us had eaten. Looking me over he decided that room service was what was needed so he picked up a phone, asked for it and ordered what sounded like a Christmas feast plus a pint of Kentuck....whatever that was.    

Lets eat first and then get you cleaned up and ready to start learning....if you're not too tired. As I hadn't eaten since that morning, I was hungry and, as opposed to being at home, there was no kitchen from which to quickly make a sandwich, grab a piece of fruit, just the silence of the elegance of the room. Jack stripped, got out some clothes that were more like clothes you wore to bed until he took out a fancy robe, went to the floor, had his initials on the lapel, suede and velvet slippers, also with his initials and a scarf around his throat. He did it so effortlessly, just as if he wore that kind of clothes all the time, like his suit, easy, distinguished but with no sense that he thought about it, planned what to wear, just put it on and looked....great. He saw me watching.    

“     Kid, when you wear clothes like this and there's another man in the room, he's there to talk you out of them...and, depending on circumstances, he might succeed. 'Course, he may only get you to let your dick loose so he can suck it, depends on what the agreement is. Never give 'em more than they've paid for and even then, make them understand there was a bit more if they'd paid more.” The doorbell rang. He answered and a white coated waiter pushed in a trolley with silver covers on top. Jack signed, gave the waiter a good tip and we each found a chair and pulled it to the little table.    

One at a time he removed the covers and I was goggle eyed. Steak, potatoes, some green vegetables, it all looked and smelled great and I was at it immediately. Until I got my knuckles rapped. He smiled...”I guess you're going to need to learn some better manners. Your Dad tried his best but...there are some things you need to know how to do...it's all part of making money and, before we tackle basic knife and fork, learn something; Never buy a meal when you're with another man. Whether he's a client or not, they pay. If for nothing else than the privilege of sitting with a good looking hunk, it's all worth something and, you never know, that guy who talks about his wife and kids may just want to play on the other side of the fence...Also, two good looking men attract women and if that's what he wants, let him have his way. They'll come a time when you can laugh and say, “Whatever they did...I bet I could do better...” then smile as if it's a joke at least for a time. Now, shut up and eat hearty, you've got some work to do and I want you ready.    

After dinner he pushed the cart, dishes and all, out the door where, I assumed, someone took them away. The only thing he kept was something wrapped in a napkin which proved to be a bottle of liquor. “Fucking prohibition, glad it will soon be over...you ever had a drink?” I nodded my head no...”Thought not. Well, you're going to have to learn cuz it may be you're the one who stays upright even though your John is shit faced.” He took a glass that had some water and ice in it and added some of the liquid from the bottle and handed it to me. “Drink up, but just sip...you have to be seem to be drinking even though you'll never have too much. If you're in a bar-as soon as they open again, quietly tell the bartender or your waiter to fix you a glass that looks like a high ball or a cocktail but doesn't have any liquor in it. For a good tip, that'll be no problem cuz your John will be paying full price. But I want you to know what it tastes like and, maybe, you'll get to like it. This is sipping whiskey, takes longer to drink so..have a taste even though I've put water in it.”    

At least I didn't choke or make a face but he could tell I didn't much like it. “Okay, for the first time. We'll find something you can drink that'll go right down but never beer...only in very specific situations can you drink beer. For one, you can't disguise it and for another it's the one thing most jerks will use to drop a mickey on you.” I looked puzzled. “Mickey, Mickey Finn, knockout drops. I doubt if you'll ever have to deal with them, they're more likely to be used in cheap bars to get rid of drunks or to Shanghai guys for work in places they don't want to work. Just never go with any guy who looks down on his luck and stay out of saloons. You'll see why as we go along but now...time to start cherry picking.”    

He told me to go into the bathroom, draw a warm bath and get in it. Wash myself thoroughly, drain the tub, refill it and just relax in the warm water. That's what I did. Jack came in occasionally, made sure I kept the water warm, took a piss, looked down and smiled at me and turned out the light. It was strange being up to my neck in warm water in the dark, not bad, not scary just...different, almost pleasant. I could have dropped off to sleep but I was afraid I'd slip down and drown but leaning my head over the porcelain rim kept me afloat and if I didn't sleep then I rested to the point where I lost track of time and where I was.    

The only light came from the open door when Jack came in to see how I was doing. “Bout time...lets get you out of there, dried off and into bed”. The room was dim, only a light on beside the bed, the sheets all turned down and he'd covered the bed with towels.    

“     Okay, lesson one, the finger up your butt, ever do that to your self?” I had to admit I had, information he seemed to find helpful. “Well, good, that makes the first one easier. Now, look, see how I've got my nails all cut way back and smoothed off? That's so that as they go into you, you won't get cut but for now, we'll just enjoy this part.” He had me roll over on my stomach, took some pillows and elevated my tail in the air, gently separating my legs. He put some sort of cream or grease on his finger and slowly slid it up my ass.....he let it sit there a moment or so and then began to slowly move it. “How's that?” I smiled at him so he withdrew it and this time had two fingers which he pushed in more firmly and a bit further. It didn't exactly hurt, at worst it was strange, uncomfortable....He looked at me trying to determine how I was doing and not finding resistance, started over with three fingers. This time he spread them slightly as he went in which did hurt a little and he could tell that I winced. “That's okay, kid, it'll only hurt for a little more and then...well, you'll see. One more thing to do...” He picked up a long, cucumber shaped piece of something, oiled it and put it into the opening of my hole. “No need to try the fourth finger, you're ready to be split so just hold on....” He held one of my hands and pressed the object slowing but steadily in. It was bigger in all ways than his finger and really hurt right at the entrance to my hole; I didn't cry but my face was slightly contorted by pain. He patted me, said we were almost there and just relax, loosen up, concentrate on allowing it to slide in and then....WOW. The pain disappeared and I could feel my cock suddenly get hard, my balls were making cream fast and whatever that thing did, I liked.    

Jack laughed his good hearty laugh and said only one more thing until my cherry was popped and I was a virgin no more. I didn't know, but from the way I felt, I was good and popped but now I was enjoying having the round end of what he stuck in my rotated, made me horny as shit, instinctively I started to thrust forward, my cock rubbing on the towels and then a splat of cum that I hadn't expected. Quickly, Jack took the place on the towel where it went and put it to my mouth...”Always eat your own cum...especially if you jerk off in front of someone. Most guys won't and they'll be impressed.” There wasn't too much and all it tasted was slightly salty..why other guys wouldn't eat it didn't make sense.    

Jack drew out the thing which he called a dildo explaining to me that I'd have a set of these to practice with to make sure my chute was kept opened but..he looked very serious, the best men who do this, can clamp their butt shut like an old snapping turtle. Real important you remember that but we'll practice. For the moment, he rolled me over on my back, sucked my just emptied cock, but it still felt awful good, and then said he wanted me to rest before one last thing; I think I fell asleep immediately.    

It was a short nap. When I came to Jack was stark naked, playing with his cock with one hand, fondling his balls with the other. “Watch what I'm doing, tricks like to see a well built guy smiling, getting ready, playing with themselves; Most are too stupid to realize they carry their own sex factory in 'em and that's why they pay people like us. They won't see it this way but we're not he whores, we're stallions standing at stud, paid to fuck a cow or a heifer or a colt, makes no difference. Once they've paid and peeled, we're gonna do what we want to do regardless. Just like now. Time to pop your cherry.”    

He was real kind, arranged my ass so he had the best, the easiest way in, told me to relax, to breathe deeply, dripped some lotion in my hole, rubbed some on his shaft and then I could feel the hot tip of a man's cock right at the entrance. He didn't say anything, just steadied me with one hand and slowly slid in. It did hurt and there were tears but his massaging my butt and the care he was taking made it easier and then, just like before, he got to that spot where all hell broke loose and I wanted him to fuck me, never quit fucking me, push it in, give me that feeling, make my dick hard and my balls bounce off my skin. Jeeeesus Fucking Christ. It was one thing with the dildo but a man with a hot cock, who knew just how to move it, then said things, good things, told me I wasn't a virgin but a hot hole, just to enjoy it...there was more to come...and he carefully slid out just before he shot a wad of cream that I knew-he said it was instinctual-to roll around and suck out of him. Must have done something right, his belly went in and out and he almost lost his balance....all from me licking and sucking and eating what he had to give.    

“     Jesus, Kid, you're as close to a natural as I ever seen. You took all seven inches just like you did it yesterday before dinner and again last night at bedtime. A little training and we'll be on the gravy train. Look at me kid.....” He studied my face. “Tell me how it felt...”    

What to say? There was nothing to compare it to but part of it was the greatest feeling I'd ever had, even jacking off didn't touch this...and that's what I told him...also that I wanted it again. He smiled, put me on my side, got right by me and pushed it in. Still hurt-a little-right at first but then he got down to business and I hope to shout sin and me got to be good friends fast. This time he had his hands free and they pinched my nipples which gave me a bolt of electricity right to my dick that I'd never had...he knew it as I could hear him chuckle to himself then move one hand to my hard cock and push in and out as he stroked my cock. I'd already blown so it took so little while to get enough to even have something dribble out but then...he was in the same condition so it was taking him longer to squirt himself. And how that man could talk, not really dirty but encouraging me, to take him deeper, clamp on his tool, make him hurt, take it deeper...and again, I felt his muscles contract and he seemed to lose control but inside me I knew...he'd cum and, just like the stallions he talked about, I'd been bred. I'm sure there's lots to be said for being a virgin or having your cherry but, right then, I couldn't think what it was.... 

The End Of  Part One