Mister Collier Gives Me a Ride

So, it was barely Spring of 1972 and I'd stayed over at the home of one of my straight buds, 18-year-old Ed Collier.  We'd got a bit drunk, wrestled and I'd wound up giving him a blowjob [Blowjob for my Straight Bud] for the first, [but not the last] time.   We woke up around ten a.m. and were talking comics when his Dad came down and told me to come on up to the kitchen at eleven and he'd give me a ride home.  That was cool.  It was Saturday and I had nothing planned and was in no rush to get home.

As it turned out, Mr. Collier was in no rush to get me home, either.

I came upstairs at eleven and Mr. C was at the kitchen table with a pile of books, finishing a cup of coffee.  He had to make a stop at the library, to return these and pick up a few they were holding for him.   While we drove, he asked me what movie we'd seen and what else we did.  I told him we talked, played a few games and stuff.  "And sampled Edward’s Johnny Walker?"  I didn't answer immediately, and Mr. C laughed and squeezed my thigh, "You both look a little hungover.  If I was worried about him drinking," he patted my thigh, "I wouldn’t have given it to him."  I relaxed and said we'd sampled the Johnny Walker Red and that I'd enjoyed it.

He assured me I could always be honest with him; "I don't judge, and I had some wild times at your age."

When we reached the library, he dug around in his glove compartment and found his library card, then told me he'd be back in about twenty minutes.  When he’d gone, I started to close the glove compartment and noticed a rubber-banded pack of photographs.  The top one was a closeup of a guy sucking a hefty cock.  I glanced at the library, assuring Mr. C wasn't returning yet, and flipped through them, fondling my dick.  There were three dozen, give or take, about half featuring cocksucking and the rest fucking, mostly different guys, some of them hung and some not.  I started to unzip, glanced toward the library and saw Mr. C coming and zipped up and put the photos back, my erect cock straining at my tight jeans.

He put the books in the back seat and started to close the glove compartment, then noticed the photos.  He put them further back, closed the compartment and smiled, "I shoot photos and home movies sometimes.  Gives me a little extra cash.  Sorry about that."  I told him it was no problem, and that it didn't bother me.  I didn’t even try to pretend I hadn't seen them.  He patted my thigh, "Good.  Keep it between us, huh?"  I assured him I would.  We drove for a few minutes before he squeezed my thigh again and asked if I was hungry.  He knew a small bar where we could get great sandwiches and they wouldn’t card me.  I said that sounded great and he squeezed my thigh, and rubbed it, and off we went.  Of course, it appeared that with all the thigh patting, he was coming on to me, but he was Ed’s dad.   He wouldn’t.

The bar was in the red-light district and was a gay bar and he was right: the food was great, and the bartender looked me over from the second we came through the back door, but he never carded me.  We took counter seats and when I'd finished the sandwich and was about halfway through the bourbon and coke Mr. C ordered for me [hair of the dog], he made a more overt pass at me.  He ran his hand up my thigh and brushed my cock.  I drank half of the remaining drink and swung toward him a little on the stool.   He kept watching the television while he moved his hand down to my knee, then up slowly and over my cock and balls, this time fondling them.  Okay, so he would make a pass at me.  My cock strained for freedom and more attention.   I glanced at the bartender, who was watching and smirking. I moved into Mr. C's hand and he unbuckled my belt, then told me to stand up and got off his barstool.  I stood and took a drink and Mr. C felt my ass.  He drank, still fondling, then turned to me and said, “Nice ass.”  Not loudly, but in a conversational tone that got the attention of a few of the guys across the bar.  All of them were middle-aged and older [I found out on another visit that the youth crowd started showing around eight].  One of the guys, a dark brunette, caught my eye and licked his lips and another, with salt -and-pepper graying hair, picked up his drink and headed over.

Mister C told me, "Open your jeans."  I hesitated, even though the idea of his stripping me in public sent a huge throb of arousal through me.   He squeezed my shoulder, "I'm not going to take 'em down, " he smiled, "Scout's honor."  

The gray-haired guy with the drink took the stool on the other side of me.

Mr. C asked if I wanted to leave and I unbuttoned my jeans, "No, I'm fine.  Can I get another drink?"  Before he could answer the gray-haired guy ordered refills for all three of us.  I thanked him, Mr. C introduced hm as George and he shook hands, running his middle finger across my palm as he released.  

Mr. C pulled my jeans zipper down [they were tight hip-huggers so they weren’t going anywhere] and slid his hand into the back of my jeans and fondled my ass.  "Yeah, that is a very nice ass."  

I wasn't sure if he was talking to me [I don't think he was], but I thanked him.  He felt me up for a little longer, then took his hand out of my jeans, gripped my shoulders and whispered "Turn."  I took a drink and let him turn me toward George.  Mr. C got closer and slid his hand into the front of my jeans and felt my cock and balls through my jock.  George drank and watched, as though he was watching a movie.  The bartender moved closer too, smiling.  After a couple of minutes of fondling and stroking, Mr. C zipped and buttoned my jeans and asked if I wanted to see his studio.  I told him that'd be great.

We finished the drinks.  Mr. C told George he owed him one [George agreed] and the bartender told Mr. C to bring his "...cutie friend..." back anytime, "...the sooner, the better.".  [For the record, I was relatively cute, somewhere between good-looking and pretty, 5'9, 160, with longish brown hair and not much body hair.  I wasn’t muscular, but wasn't flabby either, had stocky and solid thighs, nicely rounded buttocks and a slightly below average {around 6 inches] cock with decent sized balls.  And while I 'm describing people, Mr. Collier was in his early fifties, a tad taller than me, but slimmer with wiry muscles.  He was rough-looking [he looked like a Marine, really], was dark blonde, short haired with a moustache, light body hair, just a trace of chest hair, and a coppery tan.  His cock was a bit bigger than mine and not as big as his son’s [I'd guess closer to 6.5" than 7"].

He drove me to a building about ten minutes from the bar where he rented a studio space sectioned into a small office with a one-person shower, a darkroom and a photo studio area.  The photo studio area had four quadrants: a tented white studio area with a few stools of varying heights and several lights; an area with a queen size brass bed with white sheets, an overhead lamp and a bedside stand; an area with a rug, three-seat red leather sofa, coffee table and two floor lamps; and an area by the door with a filing cabinet, two closed storage cabinets and tripods and a couple more lights.  

I sat down on the sofa and he retrieved a camera and tripod and set them up in the tent area.  Then he turned around, "Get as comfortable as you like,” smiled and unbuttoned his shirt, "Meaning, strip.  Can you handle another drink?"  I said yes, it was only around two p.m., and started taking my clothes off.  He went to the office, called back "Leave the jockstrap," and returned a few minutes later with two drinks, stripped to his slacks and shorts.  He gave me my drink, swallowed a quarter of his and put it down.

He opened his slacks and stepped out of them.  "I took a chance on the photos because I suspected you're at least bisexual.  I got home at 3 a.m. and went down to check on you two.  I pulled the blanket back," he fondled his cock.  I drank a little and put my glass down.  He smiled, "and was pleased, in more than one way, to see your naked ass.  I wasn’t surprised," he drank, put his glass down and came over beside me, "because I did the same thing last month, checked on you two, and found Edward in his jock and you naked.  So, I figured, try the pictures, see how he reacts and see if he has a hard-on when you come back and,” He pushed his shorts down and stepped out of them, "take it from there."  He massaged his semi-hard cock, "Plus Edward asked me, a few weeks ago, if I thought you were homosexual.  He never said why."

I told him I wasn't sure.  I still liked women but was more turned on by guys.

He put his hand on my shoulder, "Show me." and I knelt, leaned forward, took his cock head into my mouth and sucked and licked it carefully.  I withdrew it and licked the shaft, then his balls, kissing and sucking gently.  His cock continued to engorge.  I licked his balls again, sucked them and licked my way up his shaft then took his cock completely into my mouth, sucking, licking and teasing it to full, hard life.

He put his hand in my hair and slowed me down and occasionally sped me up for the next few minutes.  And I worked his cock as best I could, licking and sucking it as he fucked my mouth.  I could have sucked his cock all day, but he had other plans.  He withdrew it and pulled my hair a little and told me, "Just a sec."  He went to the cabinets and came back with a bottle of Vaseline and box of tissues.   He helped me up and took me to the end of the sofa and bent me over the arm, kicked my legs wide apart, then fondled my ass cheeks for a couple of minutes.   He ran his hand over them, patted them lightly and slipped his hand between my legs and fondled my balls.  I squirmed a little under his touch and thought I heard him whisper "Good" and "Just like that" or "I like that" several times.

Then he asked, "Have you been fucked, kiddo?"  He squeezed my ass, reached under and massaged my jock-covered dick.   I started to tell him not to call me that [I was 18, dammit ;-)], but swallowed my pride and soon forgot it.   I told him yes, I'd been fucked and seconds later two of his Vaseline-covered fingers were probing and lubing my asshole.    He took his time with it, fondling my ass and finger-fucking my hole with one or two fingers.  Finally, I felt his cock teasing at me--

--then suddenly Mr. C shoved forward, and his entire cock filled me.  He reached up and held my shoulder, wrapped his other arm around my hips and started fucking me hard.  

"You like that?"  Pumping, "Do you like that dick?"

"Yes.  I do...it...feels great."  

He kept pumping hard and steady, unspeaking from then on.  After a few minutes he pulled my jock cup aside and exposed my hard cock and started jerking me off.   He had a hard grip and would occasionally switch to feeling my balls, then return to my shaft, never missing a beat as he plowed me.  

Suddenly he stopped masturbating me and grabbed my hips.  He pulled halfway out of me, paused a second, then slammed it back in and increased his pace, fucking hard and fast.   The feel of his hard meat filling me was incredible, but just as exciting--maybe even more so--was the feeling of his owning me, of his using me as his sex toy, and the feel of his iron grip on my hips, pulling me into him as he slammed into me.

And suddenly he whispered "Fuck!", thrust forward and I felt his cumload filling me.   He let out a harsh breath and shot another load of cum into me; thrust a few more times and squeezed my ass cheeks together, then another ten or twelve strokes and a whispered "Fuck yeah."  He stayed in me for a minute, coming down slowly, then withdrew and patted my ass, “Turn around.”

He fondled my cock lazily as he wiped his with tissues, then asked me if he could take a few photos.  My cock was still throbbing with the need to get off, but I agreed to it and he led me to the white tented area, where he took a dozen photos of me and my hard-on, with and without the jockstrap.  

Then he took me back to the couch, pulled my jock down and finally gave me relief in the form of a blowjob.  He took his time with it, getting me close to orgasm several times and backing off, until I couldn't hold out any longer.  I finally moaned and felt a huge load burst out of my cock and fill Mr. C's mouth.  He swallowed it and chased it with the rest of his drink, then told me to get a shower and we'd take a few more photos then leave.

He took another two dozen photos of me, nude, in jockstrap and in jeans and, around four p.m., finished driving me home.

He assured me the photos weren’t for publication anywhere.  That didn't mean, I found out later, that there wouldn’t be other men seeing them.  But that’s another story.