One Rothko and Two Warhols

I like smaller museums, the sort small cities or towns have. Not infrequently they have some surprises that one wouldn't expect. Spotting the local one, I checked the parking lot for school busses and found only six or eight cars, half of which probably belonged to the staff. Hard experience had taught me to avoid the young who show up for "educational tours" but are there to get a day out of school. I only too clearly remember a visit to the  Whitney when a stampede of "children" who apparently had it in for adults knocked me to the floor and ran over me. At best there were eight or ten cars, at least half I wrote off to staff. In I went.
Small museums can often have surprisingly good collections providing you're not expecting a branch of the Metropolitan in the middle of Arizona. (Which wasn't where this was; I'm protecting both the guilty and the innocent......not that there was much innocence.) Having a Wednesday afternoon to kill, I found their Art Museum,  checked the parking lot for school busses-I had once nearly had both legs broken at the
The pleasant lady at reception (Is there someplace that provides pleasant ladies to museums and other things of that ilk?) handed me a catalog, cheerfully accepted ten dollars as my payment for the book-although no payment had been suggested) and suggested that I start on the left with local artists. Fine, that's what I did. 

Some things are called "local" for good reason and it's usually because outside of that locale, they wouldn't be tolerated. I stood standing looking at what may or may not have been a water color before moving on to a brutal rendering of some cows, or maybe they were Yaks, grazing in a field.  One oil did have some humor although I doubt that was the intention of the artist. Indeed looking at it I could imagine that it had been done with the idea of presenting it to a church as it was a "religious topic". Even walking to the other side of the room it was hard to find the "topic" in it but I did think a drunk tattoo artist could have done better. Actually, my secretary's son could have done better but he's only three and his grasp of finger paint will doubtless increase or he'll switch to another media.
 
So much for the locals. Through an arch there was the gallery that housed the basis for the collection which was a representation of what the out of town folks had produced. I'll say this, whoever did the buying or had done it over the years had realized, for instance, one very good Winslow Homer is far better than an enormous camvas that can render you sea sick or see sick. There was quite a lot to admire and some genre works by artists I hadn't realized did genre paintings. Really a fine representation of, primarily, American or latter day Europeans. 

I was wearing my cowboy boots and their heels beat a pleasant tap as I moved around the gallery, stopping, stooping to look closer, consulting my catalog-really well done- and moved on. There was a large Georgia O'Keefe that stopped me but did not stop the footsteps. A pleasant looking, well, very pleasant looking man stopped by my side, offered his hand and name, told me he was the curator and he was curious as to my opinion of their museum thus far. There was probably an internal security system, one that included cameras as he thanked me for giving some time to their "locals". I introduced myself, explained that I was in town on a job and was actually from Lubbock, Texas. Hence the boots. He mentioned my deep West Texas accent so I smiled to show him my deep dimples, all three of them. Well, all three of them on my face, there were two more but they were not for public exhibition.

Leaving Georgia hanging on the wall we moved on to a painting called, "The Cottage Door" which was nicely done if unimpressive. He said, he often wondered how many cottage doors had been painted and were now hanging in museums. To which I added that cows in a meadow as well as the Grand Canal in Venice were along the same lines. He laughed and said that in his own mind, he'd made a list of the "Bastard Classics" of art, those subjects which had been overworked. To counter that I mentioned a well known concert pianist who was a friend and occasional fuck buddy, who also had a list which he called the "Bastard Classics". Viktor said if he had to play "The Flight of the Bumble Bee" once more, he would throw the whole fucking piano at the audience. This time Jack, his name, really laughed and said we had a friend in common evidently. 

In a question that could be interpreted several ways, he asked how well and how long I'd known Viktor. I paused and looked right into his very deep brown eyes; "We've killed a number of bumble bees together using our cocks as swatters". Jack smiled, I smiled back.
He asked if I had plans for the evening to which I said I'd have to think about my plans, it would depend on the rest of the collection.
He said not to miss their statuary collection of nude men adding that it was a shame artists had short changed their subjects when it got to their cocks and balls. To illustrate his point he took my hand, the one not holding the catalog and proved that he had personally not been short changed. I've never been steered myselg but while I appreciated the gesture, I'd seen some modern art in my peripheral vision that bore a look/see. 

No idea how many shoes Andy Warhol had painted in his life but the simple answer was "A Great Many". They had two, hard to tell if they were both a left and a right.
"A gift." he said.
"I, uh, might have guessed that. Everyone has at least one Warhol and it seems to always have been a gift." We both stared at it not for any reason but as he'd become my sort of guide, or docent, it was up to him to make the next move.
"You're a handsome man. But you know that I hope."
"Just thinking the same about you and I know you know it." To extend our pause I asked, "Would you have fucked Warhol?"
"Nope, but Joe, dalla whats his name could have made me."

"Too young for me."
" I guess a question might be, would you fuck me or perform some other lowdown, dirty sex act on or with me?"
He was taken aback, he shouldn't have been, he raised the subject, I didn't stick my hand on his drawers, he did.
"Well, not here."
"Why not here? I've done it in public places lots of times and it's not for the thrill, it's for the man I'm with. I'll bet you if we looked around we'd find a spot not covered by a camera and you could blow me as a sign of gratitude for my visiting. Of course, that would force me to reciprocate, maybe here or....maybe not here. Ever done it in the air-conditioned cab of a John Deere Harvester? You can do a good half an acre before either of you comes."
He seemed a bit taken aback. "Have you? In the tractor I mean."
He was getting hard and, soon, I was going to have to hand him my catalog to cover what should be covered in a museum unless you're a bronze statue, naked, holding a sword.

"Tractor turns you on, does it. Cars are an everyday thing, do that all the time. Planes? the can on them isn't big enough and if you're in your own bunk, it's too small, particularly if you're me."
He gulped, shame he didn't have gum, he would have swallowed it.
"You are tall, aren't you."
"'Bout three inches taller than you and that's with my boots off. Did you know that cowboys, least ways in my part of Texas, prefer to fuck with their boots on? Course you have to take them off to pull down your britches, but back on they go."
He didn't seem to know that.

Since he'd put it there, I went a step or three further by unzipping him, reaching in through the slit in his boxers and pulling out his nice and hard dick. Didn't take me but a moment to drop my catalog, hold onto his meat, drop down to collect the errant pieces of paper and give him the beginnings of a suck.

He wildly tried to gain control and, most of all, get his cock, if not softer, than at least back in his pants. I'd already spotted the camera for where we were and so lead him by his meat on to another painting, a very tall Rothko. It was easy enough to slowly jack him as we moved and I, at least, maintained an air of interest in the collect. His attention was elsewhere. 

Mark Rothko is one of my favorite artists; If I had thirty or forty million dollars and walls tall enough to hang one, I'd buy it. This one, however was oddly displayed. About three feet up from the bottom, there was a gallery table that cut across it and, under that, a large brass bowl filled with silk flowers.
I put his pecker on top of the cold marble table and let it begin to recede.
"What's wrong with this one? Why the table?
"Uhm it has a little defect". He was stuffing the longer part of his genitalia back in his pants forgetting the zipper. "Look at the bottom."
"Love to." and gave his left cheek a good squeeze that made him yelp. In my line of work you develop very strong hands.

Practically sitting on the floor, I removed the bowl and its contents and was confronted with.....plain canvas.
"Where's the rest of it?" He got down beside me.
"It was a gift from someone who wanted the whole value."
"Yeah, but....it's not worth much, he didn't finish it."
"Uhm, he did but the previous owner had a couple of dogs and they licked the bottom part off. Lucky they weren't killed."
"Okay, it was dumb of him to let it happen but it doesn't have any value to the museum, you can't claim it for more than a very low appraisal, not like this. And you sure as hell didn't give him the auction value."
"We got lucky, he died during negotiations so all we had to do was deal with a bank which was his executor. They saw the problem and were really grateful that we'd take it and give them anything.
I whistled through my teeth and put my arm around his shoulder. 

"Is that hung flush with the wall?"
"Certainly."
"Well, I was thinking we could pull the table out, put the posies and the can they're in back where they were and we'd have some fuckin' space behind it."
He looked appalled. "We can't do that?"
"What? Fuck? I've seen yours and it looks like it could fuck a sheep. Look," I undid my pants and hauled mine out, giving it a stroke or two just to get it to stretch a bit. "That look like it could screw you? I'm saying yes it could.

He was transfixed by my cock and the tattoo on top of it. One full length oil rig, the rocker arm went around the sides.
"I'm right proud of that, took some pain to get it but no one who sees it doubts what business I'm in. Before My Grandpap died, I showed him and he pret near laughed himself sick. Clapped me on the back and said he wished he'd done the same thing sixty years earlier."
"Does it hurt?"
"Depends on where it is and what it's doing. Some fellas scream, some just coo and want more. Wonder what you'll do?"
"I never saw a man with a tattoo....there."
"They're not as common but they exist. Mostly young kids now who get some shit and can't take the pain for the whole picture to be done. Natcherly, they don't talk about 'em cause if their buddies saw it, they'd know they got chicken shit and busted out. Now, since we're both out and ready for something, lets get that table pulled out and scoot behind ol' Mark here." 

Too appalled to do much, he let me do just what I said I'd do. Gave us an area about three fee across and five feet long. I put the flowers to the side of the table and we had our own private place to do....whatever. First this was to calm him down and the best way was to make him so nervous he dive for cover behind the painting. To that end, I started stripping him. coat, shirt, undo the belt, he was already unzipped so his pants fell right to the floor. Just to give it a manly touch, I ripped his T shirt off leaving him stark naked in a pool of clothes. He was behind the uncolorful part of the canvas in an instant.
As I told him, first thing I did was take off my boots then my britches, pulled off my shorts, shirt, tie, put my boots back on and crawled around to join him.

"Jesus, I'll be fired, I'll never get another job in art, I'll be the laughing stock...." At which point I put my large hand over his mouth, leaned in, kissed him on his forehead and propped him up a bit. "First of all, nothing will happen to you 'cept your going to end up with another mans semen in you. Nobody will notice, see or hear a thing. Now, get comfortable, roll over and I call first fuck only because I've got the biggest piece of meat and you need it in you to stop worrying  about anything else save, maybe, how much deeper I can go. 

I pulled him up on his knees, worked up a glob of spit, took it and ran it over my cock then got another wad and let it go in his hole.
"Okay, it's time to drill." I went in a little bit just so he knew what was in him then let it slide down as he gradually released his muscles. I knew there was one that would be difficult as shit to get through so I got my head in, backed it up to where my stalk met my head and rhythmically, worked them back and forth. Used to coming from one direction, didn't take too long to begin to feel it open and that was my cue to push on him. He yelped-it probably did hurt a little-but then my sex snake got to the good part as I could tell as his whole body relaxed.
"That's my good pony, take it and love it. We've got a long trail and I want you to enjoy me as much as I am going to enjoy you." I chuckled a bit, took one hand, reached under him and, yep, he was solid. 

There was silence while I got my speed just right, while I worked on his balls to make sure they were expanding and contracting. He'd have to be milked pretty soon but that was good as it meant I was getting him really primed for a good, long fuck. 

Didn't take too much slow ups and down until I felt him load his rifle and I pulled the trigger for him. Cum splattered on the floor followed by another shot.
"That's a good boy, now you can let this stallion breed you until you can't hold it in anymore." He was almost in tears from pain and pleasure. Got a good hold on his nipples and pulled them slowly out then let them spring back. Back behind them, his cock and balls had started a revival toward putting polish on the floor again.
In the driver's seat, I went a bit more in too him, kissed him on both cheeks and slightly increased the tempo. He began to join me which pleased me and showed he was turned on. 

I don't keep track of time when I'm taking a man down the pleasure trail but I was aware, regardless of what I'd said that we were in a public place and some one might notice the clothes, especially my boots, on the floor. With a couple of really hard, sharp shoved I let my sperm gush into him while he yelped at the sudden attack. Rested for a moment and then pulled out, letting him enjoy the feeling of flesh against his soft innards as I passed by.

He more or less collapsed so I did retrieval duty and got all our clothes behind the painting. This gave him some breathing room as to discovery as well as time just to relax and realize what had happened. I could tell him but I wanted him to realize it himself....and want it again at another time. Depending on how pleased and pleasured he was, he might fly down to Lubbock just to say, "Howdy/"

Without thinking about it, he was standing absolutely nude in the middle of his own museum. Just to make sure he didn't wander off that way I handed him his shorts  then pulled the shorts away. "Go Commando, do you good. Lets the world know that Jack is a stallion in training, never know, might get you some contributors to the museum.
I was used to dressing where I hadn't expected to be so I was ready in about one minute. Jack was still a bit shaken so it was no problem to put a friendly arm around his shoulders and guide him to a bench from which one could admire (?) a large painting of no heritage but was decorative and gave the ardent gallery visitor a place to rest for a moment. I leaned back, threw one booted foot over the other and pulled him closer with another arm around his shoulders. 

He was quiet but there was the trace of smile, the sort of smile that says, "I've just been royally fucked and if I could to it again, right here and right now, I would."
"You owe me one or two things. I like to feel a man up my ass and I think you're the next man to do it. I like to suck dick until it almost falls off and you've got a dick ready for that. Like to hog tie a guy and work over their whole body with one of my tools and after that, hop in the shower with them, then go to bed for sleeping. At least during the night, morning's another time to deal with.
His head bobbed up and down meaning, I assumed, yes. He wasn't much into moving so I took out the small note pad I always carried with me, wrote where I was, my name in the event he'd forgotten it and the time he was expected. I added "Casual Dress, No Underwear", tore the note out and put it in his pocket. While I was leaning over I gave him a kiss on his cheek and walked away.

Paused at the front desk to chat with the nice lady and, while I was there, borrowed a pen from her and wrote out a generous check, ran into five figures, to show my appreciation. She made all sorts of noises and started to stand up saying she must find the curator, she knew he'd want to thank me personally. I told her it was to be a surprise-which it certainly would be-leaned over saying I always kiss all the pretty ladies and walked out the door. In my car I picked up my cowboy hat and drove off to the hotel where I changed my room to a suite with the biggest bed they had. Looking the clerk straight in the eye I said I was going to have company and after a certain time, did not wish to be disturbed. I asked when his shift got off to which he replied midnight. 

No reason not to so I told him, having asked his sexual preference and making him open his pants to see what he was carrying-nice piece of meat there-I suggested that the following evening, if he could get off early, drop by and we'd see what came up. He suggested three was more fun than one and directed me to the bar tender in the lobby bar. As I came with a referral, he, too, produced something to be proud of and was told that tomorrow evening I was having a little get together in my room soon as he could off. As he served me my Bourbon neat with a beer chaser, he allowed as how an evening out never hurt anyone. He'd be there.

Upstairs I had time to rest, get a good shower and prepare for Jack. I knew he'd come, that check alone was worth a "thank you" visit and, having sampled the merchandise, probably wanted an opportunity to revisit the issue. Right by me.
I'd arranged with Rick, the guy at the front desk, that when Jack appeared and gave him the right name, give him an electric key to my door, send him up and ring my phone a couple of times.

The phone rang and I was in place for Jack. He opened the door and saw me, naked save for my boots and hat, sitting on a table, my boots hooked over the stretcher bar. He was taken aback then begin to smile and come towards me. That's when I roped him, tugged until he fell down, got up went to him and hog tied him. A skill any kid of ten has in Lubbock but one he wouldn't expect here. 

It was easy getting his clothes off even with the rope. Whenever something needed to be loosened, something else was tightened. Also, I ran a rope through his mouth; Didn't gag him but didn't give him very understandable speech. I knew better than to pick up the rope to carry him into the bedroom but I'd built a carry handle into the rope so he could neatly be collected and dumped on the bed. On his side he could not see anything but the door to the sitting room, which I'd closed and the hanks of rope that were hanging from it. I could sense his fear rising, along with his cock, but this wasn't the moment to let him in on what was going to happen next apart from his getting fucked only more so than this afternoon behind the Rothko.

I played with him, all of him, from tickling his feet to chewing on his nipples. His abdomen was rapidly rising an falling indicating how nervous he was. First thing for him was to release the gag, kiss him hello and then stick my cock in his mouth with orders to get it up-beyond what it was-then drain it. It was fun sitting there on my haunches, his mouth full of my meat, my balls being split in their sack by his chin. Just to occupy as much as possible, I pulled a quite large dildo out, greased it from a tube of extra strength lube, also from under the pillow and slowly ran it down his chute. His one experience with me hadn't really loosened him up and stretched this out but this would help for later.

Pushed my hat back and told him how we treated calves before they could join the herd. The males, most of them, were castrated and all had our ranch number tattooed on the inside of their lower lip. That pillow was an amazing place, it produced a tattoo gun, already plugged in some black ink, towels and a thing of water.
"Glad you admired my tat, thought you might like one as well. Course, don't have the time or the skill to do one like that but I've got an idea that will look good on you."

He almost bit my dick off at that news. Hated to do it but he got a good pound on his back and was told not to do that again. 

There was then a pause while I let him finish his job; Whether he liked the idea of his new tattoo, it excited the shit out of me which hurried along the drool of my crème that went into his mouth. When I was certain I was through, I pulled out and left the gag off as well.

"Feeling a mite better now that you've been fed?"
His mind was elsewhere. "You're not really going to tattoo me.....are you." There was a speculative note in his voice that said he was of two minds, you bet he wanted one and, no, he was too afraid of what it might say about him. Some people with ink are regarded as not very nice, crude even.
"I'll tell you what, if you hadn't liked mine then, course not, I wouldn't do it but.....you showed more than passable interest so something reasonably small won't hurt too much or for very long. You can tell Viktor where you got it but not when he's at the keyboard; Stupid fuck ass is likely to collapse with laughter meaning the music box would have to be tuned. And, I promise you, next time I see him, he'll come away with some decoration he didn't arrive with."

"Will it hurt?"
"Well God amighty, sure it's going to hurt, mine stung for a coupla days but it's there and I like it. One day I'll have a sleeve and the upper quarter of my chest done. Back home, out on the rigs, most of the guys have some ink and about half of them are about a quarter covered. Drop by, meet the men and their meat. Give you a tour of art work you'll never have at the museum. Ever been fucked by rough necks, that's the guys working the wells, gotta tell you, it's worth it. Some days I show up in just my boots and everybody is welcome to a piece of my ass. Have to walk side gaited when they're through but it is a worth while experience.. Course, at one time or another, every guy that I hire gets the same. The rainy season is a real good time, it's a pleasure to all be wet and have something left over from a Bronco sticking in your ass. Makes a man a man."

Probably this was too much information, specially about the group fucks but while he shuddered at the prospect of being the fuckee, his cock got about as hard as I'd seen it, at least up to then. "So, what'll it be first . you want a fuck or get some ink and it don't matter to me, cause you'll get 'em both. Plus, I wanna feel your cock in me, see if you can get me off and I promise, no hands."

He took some time thinking about his answer. To give him some help I pointed to the ropes hanging from a coat hook on the back of the door. "When you play around a ranch, you learn all sorts of knots and things. Course SOB that I was, didn't seem enough just to tie a pole to nothing so I found me a guy who taught me 'Shibari', that's Jap for getting you all tied up, usually head to toe but in regular patterns. Can take ten, twelve hours for something real complicated."

Some things have to be shown or demonstrated. I hopped up, got a folio and brought it back to the bed. There were pictures of a man nude save for very intricate rope bindings that kept him still and yet had  a very artistic quality; Everything was planned, whoever did this knew exactly how it would look. It considered the human form in all its strength and deficiencies.

Jack stared with real interest and fascination. It took him a moment or two but it finally dawned on him: "That's you, Billy, that's you in all that tangle but....it doesn't quite look like you."
"The idea is that the body is the canvas, has no value until the ropes are applied and then only after they're finished. Some cases, it's the last rope that pulls things together. Fuck, this one took eight hours and then I had to be hung like a work of art and, in this case, suspended from a cherry picker about eighty feet in the air, You see that rope dangling out the bottom? That's the key. Give it one tug and slowly all the knots come undone. When it was done, I was just hanging like I'd been lynched. Here, that's the final picture. 'Course I wasn't in any danger, well, not too much. You just trust your Rope Master and, well, you can see the results."

Mark was fascinated both from an artistic standpoint and the sheer rawness of a man so secured that he could do nothing.
"That's the most real man I've ever seen, just like you in your hat and boots, you're all man. Those muscles......"
"Work built, not work out built"
"Your cock and balls....."
"Got those from my Grandaddy. You shoulda seen his. His nuts alone, prairie oysters they're called when they're cut off and cooked, could have fed five or six people. " I thought about him and how grateful I was to him and my Dad for everything they'd done to me and for me. They made my body hard, just not my soul. It was Grandad who taught me how to fuck....well,  fuck anything. I preferred men but that wasn't all. Sometimes a knot hole would do me just fine.

"What are you going to do to me next? You said there were two things....."
"I did, didn't I. Think I'll let you dread the needle but first, need to get you untied so we can both work at getting you fucked. It's good when I do it by myself but it's a whole lot better when you help. You've done it once so this time it will be more of a pleasure for both of us. Sure, it's gonna hurt you, has to, that's what happens when you shove too much meat in a space that wants a finger instead of a cock. But it all works out.

I set to untying him then took some time to give him a good, deep massage. He groaned in pleasure as I worked down his spine in back and his abdomen in front. Timed it so I'd get to his ass and balls at about the same time. Working both fore and aft sent spasms through him which was beginning to mean it was time to pull the butt plug and get him plugged up with me.

"Okay, I want you to enjoy this cause I sure as hell am but it's a two man deal. If you just lay there and don't help, I'll still get my rocks off but you'll get.....nothing. I want your tail slightly up, over these pillows, and then I can slide in as well as cover your back giving my hands something to do playing with you."
He looked as if this was something he really wanted which made it a whole lot easier for me. 

"Billy, like today only could you, uhm, really get to me?"
"You mean harder and deeper, well son I certainly can but I'm glad you asked cuz that way you'll know what's coming, that it will hurt here and there but that goes away then you'll work with me until you're properly Texas fucked."

To say anymore was pointless. The pillows were under him, he was nicely lubed, thanks to the dildo and I like to do it raw so we were all set. First thing was to work my fingers into him and stretch the opening a bit. Guess that must have felt good as he squirmed, trying to reach up and grab my hand. Almost laughed, I might could have fisted him but that required too much width that had to be worked on over time, besides he wasn't near ready for something like that

The dildo had done some little good, he was prepared to have my cock slip into him and keep going for at least a little ways. Seemed to enjoy it. Of course, my dick meat got wider and, as it was aroused, was thicker than normal all of which Jack would notice and feel. I could hear him stifle a moan but all I could do was lean down and kiss his back. A little deeper and suddenly he relaxed which I hadn't expected. The result was that I plunged into him, past his ring of muscle and almost to his prostate. That really did hurt and he cried out in pain, no pleasure there. 

The human touch is a wonderful thing. I kept leaning down, whispering that it was going great, he'd be out of this in a few minutes but....this was what he asked for. Reaching down I could feel that the short sharp jab had somewhat took the action of his cock and so I worked on getting that back up.  The best thing would have been to suck him but I'm no gymnast and he'd have to settle for what I could realistically do. Meanwhile, back at fuck central, I'd eased myself to just short of his prostate. I whispered in his ear that I needed his help, that pushing back as I pushed in would make the world of difference. It was just enough, I was planted in that ultimate sweet spot in a guys ass, the prostate. Now I could let my cock get bigger, especially my head, which would exert pressure on him. Instantly he got beyond hard, his balls almost disappeared and he was involved in a very limited vocabulary of, "Yeah, yeah, oh shit man, yeah." 

I let him suck on my fingers when I wasn't working on his nipples-at some point he'd need to do some work himself working to get them firm. About right was when, with no playing, there was the hint of a hard point that was barely visible thru a dress shirt. If anyone wants to do a subtle evaluation of who might and who might not, that was a good starter, uh, point.

Jack was now deeply into this. I'd held back to try and give him the maximum pleasure, or the maximum he could take, understand and enjoy. Perhaps that day would come just not tonight. Slowly, ever so slowly I began to slide out still maintaining the in and out motion that worked on both of us. When I got to the muscular ring, I paused and let it hold onto the base of my head, giving it some tight squeezes-really got me going and back up if I'd lost anything on the way out. 

Time to get the grand finale, I was out and quickly rolled him so he could take my, by now, massive cock and try and deep throat it. On the other end I had him and did deep throat him plus making balls come down postponing the end for a bit. I was truly about at the edge of the cliff so I leaned into him, told him that and to enjoy the experience of having cum in his mouth, not to swallow it but to work it around and wait for the next dump. 

He took it to heart but also couldn't restrain himself and I felt the cock pipe beginning to fill. No point in clenching him off so I gave him a really strong up stroke and, bingo, my mouth was almost full of his jizz. Tasted pretty good, wondered what he'd  eaten that day. Meanwhile at the other end, my last shot had hit it's mark and I quickly got us face to face so we could eat our own milk from the other's mouth which led to some very deep kissing and, finally just holding him in my arms while he panted and wrapped his arms around my waist.

I let some time go by then laid him on the bed, rubbed his legs and shoulders and could feel the sleep that often comes after you've been well fucked. 

"Get under the covers, get warm, you're sweating and when that stops, you'll be cold so slide in, get your head on a pillow and remember how you enjoyed it all."
"Will you be here in the morning?"
"Of course, where else would I be? It's my room." That seemed to calm him.
"Billy?"
"Yeah"
"Thank you for everything. There will never be another man like you....." He took a time out to yawn and I grinned to myself. ",,,never...another....." and he was asleep. 

Laying naked on the bed, idly playing with my balls and cock I thought about going home and how this unexpected interval set me up for some roughneck poontang. Maybe I'd get lucky and it would rain on rig 61, where Sammy and the gang would know to strip expecting the sound of a big Ford with dualies crossing the mud or the dirt or whatever. They new I'd strip in the car and while I thought of that  got under the covers and, with the vision of a gusher, went to sleep.

Six months later I got a small envelope in the mail. When I opened it a Polaroid  picture fell out and there was Jack, or part of him with his balls inked like pool balls with a cue stick down his cock.