My Characters are Real: Tito as Marcos

I told you about my real life buddy Tito. In “The Czar of Wilton Drive,” my novel available on amazon.com, he is reborn as Marcos. “Czar” is the story of Jonathan Antonucci, a 21 year old, barely out-the-closet gay man from suburban New York who overnight finds himself a multi-millionaire, thanks to a bequest by his late gay great uncle. Uncle Charlie has unexpectedly died of a heart attack, leaving him the sole owner of several of the most successful bars in Wilton Manors, Fort Lauderdale’s gay ghetto. Flying down to Lauderdale to claim his bequest, Jon visits his late uncle’s attorney who gives him the keys to Uncle Charlie’s beachfront condo, now his. It is there where he meets Marcos, one of his uncle’s fuck buddies, who becomes the first man in his life …

Jon’s mind was numb the whole twenty minutes it took the cab to bring him to the Excalibur. But before he went up to the condo, he stopped in the basement garage and jogged over to space 101 and Uncle Charlie’s pride and joy.

Now his.

Fondling the top of the tan roof, Jon began to cry, first quietly, then almost uncontrollably as if he were two all over again and heard Mom and Dad were gone. He was thankful no one was around to see him.

Here, Uncle Charlie had loved him, loved him enough to leave just about all he had to him and Jon had barely thought of the man all those years, even after, at thirteen, he realized he was gay too. He felt guilty and grateful all in the same moment, and pulled up his T-shirt to wipe his face before hitting the elevator button for the fifteenth floor.

With sliding glass doors stretching across its entire length and opening up to a huge terrace that overlooked the water, Unit 1512, furnished in some kind of high end Ikea look, seemed more like an ornate pier jutting out into the sky than an apartment.

Drained by the plane ride and all that had happened since, Jon tore off his sneaks, jeans and T-shirt, and realizing he was so high up no one could see in, threw his boxers over the tan and orange sofa and ran out to the terrace to let the sun bathe his naked body.

Just then, something that looked like a mirror underneath the sofa caught the sun and glistened back at him. He reached under and pulled it out.

It was a phone.

Jon tried to turn it on but the battery was gone. Glancing around, he eyed the charger cord on the top of the kitchen counter and plugged it in. Instantly the screen came alive and the chirp of a text message echoed through the room.

He pressed the retrieve icon.

“We still on for 10?” read the text apparently from the other party. There was no reply, Jon guessed, from Uncle Charlie. The message was dated 1:21 p.m. last Thursday, the same day Applebee had told Jon he had died.

He went to the message log, pulled up the number and pressed dial.

“Who’s this?” answered a deep male voice with a Spanish lilt.

“Who are you?”

“Are you calling from Charlie Antonucci’s cell phone?”

“Yes. I found it in his condo.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I’m his nephew, I mean his grand-nephew Jonathan Antonucci. Uncle Charlie’s lawyer had me fly down from New York.
I’m here because Uncle Charlie—he—he left me everything.”

Just saying the words out loud put Jon in a momentary trance of disbelief.

“Jonathan? Now I understand. Well, that’s great, I mean, Charlie and I were good friends, real close friends, and his heart attack, that was tough on all of us who knew him. He was such a good guy…”

“Thanks. I’m still in a state of shock. It’s all so overwhelming.”

“May I ask Jonathan how old you are?”

“Just turned twenty-one last July.”

“Listen, I’m Marcos, I got my own barber shop on Wilton Drive. If you like, I can close up early and come over and help you fill in the blanks, that is, if you think that might help you…”

“Yea, that would be great, please, yea, come over. It would be great to meet somebody who knew Uncle Charlie. You see, he was the black sheep of the family, Gramps, his brother, who raised me and my sister, could never accept that he—that he was gay. You say you were a close friend of his so I guess you must have known…”

“Jonathan, I’m gay too. Does that bother you?”

“No, not at all.” Jon stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He had never told anyone about himself except for Ernie. But what it matter now?

“I’m in the same boat you might say. I guess it runs in the family.”

“There are a lot worse things in life, believe me. Well, I can be over in about twenty minutes. I’ll call you from the lobby. You need to buzz me in.”

“You know where I’m at?”

“I know the place real well.”

Jon quickly scanned the foyer and saw the intercom.

“I know this sounds like an off-the-wall question,” asked Marcos, “but you haven’t showered yet, have you?”

“No,” answered Jon, a bit confused.

“Then don’t. Let’s just say I’m allergic to the smell of Dial soap.”

The sun was warm on the terrace, and Jon lay on the green striped lounge, taking it all in. It didn’t take long for him to start to smell as the sweat from his hairy chest dripped down to his abs. Hearing the intercom buzzer, he grabbed his boxers off the sofa, slipped them on, and waited by the door.

On the phone, Marcos sounded like he’d be a big guy, the defense tackle type, but what arrived at Jon’s door was a short, compact man, no more than five-seven, with a boyish face and one of those pencil beards, hair buzzed on the sides and thick down the middle like a modified Mohawk.

Marcos smiled broadly with a glimmer of surprise in his smile.

“I sure as hell see the family resemblance,” said Marcos shaking Jon’s hand like a man. “Though you’re uncle was a short guy like me.”

“I think the height I owe to my father,” said Jon.

“And the fur?” laughed Marcos.

Jon rubbed his palm across his chest. “Dad, too, I guess.”

Marcos glanced around.

“So Pete still with Herbie?”

“Yea, I plan to pick him up later.”

“Your uncle loved that dog. Said even though he was a small little fucker, Pete had a bigger dick on him than most of his tricks.”

Jon grinned. “Wanna Coke?”

Marcos nodded.

“And watch out for Herbie. He likes to use dog collars on more than just his two babies, Hildy and Helen.”

“Huh?”

“His two mini-doxies.”

They walked out to the terrace, Marcos stripped off his tank—he was tanned and hairless with the tight body of a gymnast—as Jon got the diet Coke from the frig. In the bright, naked sun, Jon’s visitor looked somewhere in his thirties. By now, Marcos had slipped off his floppies and cargo shorts and was down to his black bikini underwear. Jon could feel his cock stirring but went into the small talk, not knowing where this was headed or even where he wanted it to go. Right now, all he wanted was not to have his cock pop out of his boxer fly.

“So how long did you know my great uncle?” Jon asked staring out to the water in an attempt to cool his erection as he handed Marcos his drink.

“Since I came down from Tampa—I’m a transplanted New York Rican. Charlie had been down here awhile by then. We met at the local baths one Saturday night and just hit it off.”

“Baths? Aren’t they those seedy places where dirty old gay men go to have sex?” asked Jon curiously.
Marcos grinned.

“Yea, and they’re getting older and more tired looking every time I go there which hasn’t been much lately. And when I do go, it’s the same guys I saw there ten years ago when I’d go down to Lauderdale for an occasional long weekend. Christ, they should have bought time shares in the place instead of renting a room every week. It would have been cheaper. They used to ask for their social security card to get in. Soon it’ll be their pre-burial arrangements.”

“So when you guys met there, Uncle Charlie was already…”

“Fifty nine and I was forty. I’ve always liked ‘em older, at least used to, but as you get older—I’m forty-five now—you start looking at the younger men a whole lot more.”

Suddenly Marcos’s face went beet red. Jon figured that he had realized what he had just said.

“You don’t look forty-five,” said Jon. “I’d take you for ten years younger.”

“Keep talkin’ dirty to me,” said Marcos. “Down here, when you’re half naked half of the time, you have to look good, or sure as hell try. And for those of us on the prowl, it’s a pre-requisite.”

“You and Uncle Charlie,” Jon replied.

Marcos smirked.

“You don’t sound like the usual airhead twenty-one year old I run into in the bars or on the web who were born with a smartphone up their butthole.”

“So you say you knew my uncle well?”

Marcos sighed. “Yea, he was a great guy. Him and I, neither of us were social butterflies, actually we were more homebodies, and it’s not that we got together a lot but when we did…”

“Like the day he died.”

“Yea, we were supposed to get together that night for a nice man-to-man, down and dirty, long slow sweat session.
That’s my thing, you know, sweat and man scent. Just call me kinky. And Charlie enjoyed it too, told me when he was driving to my place, he’d turn up the windows on his Beemer and turn on the heat, in 80 degree weather mind you, just so he’d be nice and smelly for me.”

“So—so he had the heart attack here?”

“Yep, the doorman who’s on during the day down in the lobby was delivering a package that had come that morning, some kinky underwear I think from International Male Charlie told me he had ordered where your ass cheeks hang out. He knew Charlie was in since he remembered seeing his car in the lot when he came on duty, so when he got no response at Charlie’s door, he used the master key and found him sprawled on the bed, cold. He was long gone, it must have hit him as soon as he got in the night before.”

“I wish I had stayed in touch all those years,” said Jon. “I think he would have been a good teacher for all this. I’m not like you guys who have seen it all. I’m a virgin to this life. All I’ve known is Manhunt and Growl’r and Scruff…”

“But you’ve met guys on them haven’t you, I mean you’re handsome and hot, with all that fur,” said Marcos leaning over to give a playful rub to Jon’s hairy abs.

“No,” corrected Jon, “when I said I was a virgin I meant it.”

Marcos laughed, “Well, I had my first girl when I was thirteen back in Brooklyn and ended up fucking her boyfriend a week later.”

“Me and my j-o buddy, well, we were always afraid to do it for real with all the shit gonna on out there …”

“You mean like HIV?” said Marcos.

Jon nodded.

“What if I told you I was HIV positive?”

“You—you don’t look sick.”

“Well, my meds keep the big bad boogey man at bay, but yea, I’m a poz boy like half the guys down here. Guess the sun and fun attracts us.”

“Was my uncle—was Charlie…”

“No, he always played top, you know, he was the one who did the fucking. Seems they say it’s pretty hard for a top to catch it. Or maybe Charlie was just lucky. Me? All it took was one bad cock.”

Jon looked Marcos straight in the face. He had beautiful brown eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to see what it would be like to be with a guy, but living at home and working a shit job with a buddy who only wanted to shoot our loads over pics, well…”

“And you want me to be your first?” laughed Marcos, getting up. “I feel honored.”

“You’re making fun of me…” cowered Jon.

Marcos stopped laughing and got all serious.

“I would never make fun of you, Jon.”

“Sorry for sounding so pushy. I’m usually a wallflower. Forget I brought the whole thing up.”
Marcos grabbed Jon’s wrist.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

“No, don’t ask me why, but I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

Marcos raised Jon’s hand and stuck his nose in his sweaty armpit.

“This is what I meant when I said no shower. Fuck, you even smell like Charlie.”

Marcos led him by the hand to the bedroom. Jon followed his cue, left his boxer shorts on the living room tile and threw himself on the bed.

“Come here, Jon, lay on me.”

Jon began to shake nervously as he gently lowered his six foot two frame over Marcos. They were both sweaty from the terrace sun and the film of mutual perspiration formed an invisible seal between their bodies.

“I always enjoyed doing this with Charlie, just laying on top of one another like this, sweaty and smelly, stroking the fur on his butt, mating down all that fur on his chest and abs, just like yours…”

With that, Marcos’s tongue got reacquainted with Jon’s armpit and Jon instinctively raised Marcos’s hand to smell, then taste his.

“Something your never gonna get over a phone app, right, buddy?” whispered Marcos.

Jon’s cock was aching, his PA pressed against Marcos’ drum tight abs, and he could feel Marcos’s wet, uncut cock nestled against his inner thigh.

“Let me show you what it means for one guy to give pleasure to another,” said Marcos as he flipped Jon on his back and buried himself in his crotch. Jon closed his eyes, but there was no need imagining like he had so many times before what it was like to have a man next to him. Now he had one for real.

Starting with the big toe on Jon’s right foot, Marcos used his tongue and mouth to explore every square inch of his body, licking up his sweat and deeply inhaling his stench like only a lover of the moment could, leaving Jon’s aching cock as his last frontier, yanking on his PA with his teeth, then swallowing him whole. It never took long for Jon to cum but now, just a few deep sucks by Marcos and he was there, spurting down Marcos’s throat uncontrollably.

Marcos wiped the cum off his beard and glided his finger over Jon’s lips as he roughly jerked his own cock and shot his load a good foot all over Jon’s hairy chest, the splatter even hitting his nose ring.

“Now, wasn’t I better than Growl’r?” laughed Marcos as he fell back on the bed, alongside Jon, the sheet beneath them drenched, then lay on his belly, all still.

Jon moved closer and, leaning over, ran his hands ever so slowly back and forth over Marcos’ hard back and smooth butt. If Marcos had been hairy, he would have rubbed his fur off.

“Do I have permission to take that shower now, Teach?” asked Jon softly.

“I have a better idea,” replied Marcos and he suddenly sprang up, walked over to the living room and slipped his cargo shorts and floppies back on. “We’re hitting Sebastian.”

“Sebastian?”

“The gay beach, it’s two minutes down the road.”

Jon rummaged through his bag for his levi cutoffs, stuck on his Nikes and followed Marcos to the door.

Just then he remembered Uncle Charlie’s pride and joy.

“Wait,” grabbing the keys from the kitchen counter where he had tossed them. “I’d like to take the Beemer out for a ride.”

“You mean The Emerald Stud,” said Marcos. “That’s what Charlie called it.” He walked over to what looked like a linen closet off the living room and grabbed a few bed sheets. “We wouldn’t want to ruin all that leather with our sweaty bodies, now would we?”

Learning about man-to-man sex wasn’t the only lesson Jon got that afternoon. Marcos also showed him how to pop the roof as the two of them sped down Sunrise Boulevard to A1A and the beach. They passed hotel after hotel, the streets filled with tourists, but Jon kept glancing out at the ocean. The waves were rough, just as he remembered as a kid when Gramps and Grannie took him and Sally to Seaside Heights. He had cried when he saw what Sandy had done to the town but now he was back there all over again.

Marcos gestured to a side street and some empty meters.

“I always come prepared,” said Marcos, reaching into his pocket for quarters.

It was another sunny breezy June day in November, and Sebastian was littered with men. The best looking ones made sure to instinctively stand up like erect dicks and swagger and stroke their abs or lather lotion over their chests as they chatted with their buddies, or on their smartphones or bobbed in the waves, all just to be desperately noticed among the sea of attractive clones, desired, lusted after, even ridiculed.

Anything but be ignored.

Three huge cargo ships dominated the horizon, but their white container sections resembled large sails, and as Marcos and Jon found an open spot away from the crowd, Jon imagined them Columbus’ Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria from Miss Fine’s fourth grade class, ready to explore a new world.

Just like Jon.

“So now that you’re a rich bar owner,” joked Marcos, “what are you gonna do with the rest of your life?”
“Well right now, all I want to do is get all this sweat off me,” and with that he jumped up and ran into the water.

Marcos was right behind.

Splashing around, Jon grabbed Marcos and tried to kiss him but Marcos turned away just as a huge wave carried them back to shore.

After that they said little to one another until Marcos mentioned that he had to get back to the shop. He had some evening customers coming over.

“Sure, Teach, sure.”

“I’ll see you at Eddie’s memorial for Charlie tomorrow,” said Marcos as they parted ways back at the condo. “Hope you learned something today, Sexy.”

“Yea,” replied Jon forcing a smile.

Maybe Ernie, his jerk-off buddy back home on Staten Island whom he had spent many hours mutually getting off on all those pretty men on their smartphones, was right.

Just stick to the apps.

Next: My Characters Are Real: George

Inside the Mind of A Writer: My Characters Are Real -Tito

There’s this bedbuddy I know, Tito, a hot, short, thirty something Puerto Rican living down in Lauderdale with Latin bedroom eyes, wavy hair, a trim beard and the kind of tight, smooth, lightly muscular body that looks like it was sculpted.

So what makes Tito different from other guys I’ve played with? He likes his men sweaty and smelly, and lives not only for stenchy armpits but musty feet as well. And while I realize that this not everybody’s cup of tea, I’ve done Tito a few times, or should I say he’s done me, and have found both him and the experience super sensual.

I first met Tito about two years ago, where else but in one of the bathhouses, but was hesitant to give him the nod when he kept passing and staring into my room since he looked like a toughy who wanted to fuck the shit out of me.

But nod I did and the first thing he dived for after giving me a “hey bro” were my feet. Before long his tongue and nose were all over my body and I was mesmerized enough to get into it with him too. While we sucked one another’s twitching dicks – the arousal was supreme – sex was secondary to the sweat and scent and taste of one another’s bodies.

We exchanged numbers, and the next time I connected with him it was late one Friday and I was drunk, sloshed by one of the local bars’ three dollar ice teas, and Tito, or I should say his nose, could tell. After all, alcohol is excreted from your body through your pores and the smell of my drink on my breath and on my skin turned him off and

I was politely asked to leave. It was the first time I was rejected on account of not being raunchy enough.

We hadn’t been in touch for months when, out of the blue, up pops a message from Tito on bear411. You see, smelly or not, Tito also dug my fur. I cautioned him to let me know in advance if he wanted to connect so I didn’t wash, but wouldn’t you know it, the next time a week later when he texted me to come over I had just showered after a day of cleaning my house and working out at the gym when I would have been super ripe.

Then, one Sunday, after baking on the beach all day, I got a text from my sweat-obsessed buddy. “Wanna play? Haven’t cum in three days,”’ and after I responded “Sure,” his next question was, “Didn’t shower, did you?”

On my drive over to his apartment, I wanted to make sure I was Tito-ready. So, in South Florida temperatures hitting 90, I not only left my windows up without the ac on, I turned on the heat!

Now for all his kink, Tito is a very private person and he asked that I wear a shirt walking over from my car since he had “nosy neighbors.” I compiled but my T and shorts and smelly sneakers I had worn on the beach were off in a New York minute, Tito standing there in only his bikini underwear, and we were soon rolling around naked on his bed, licking almost every inch of one another’s flesh from armpits to chest to abs to the crack of our butts, in between sucking cock, of course. Not much was said.

We didn’t have to.

After almost an hour of tonguing and kissing and sniffing, Tito shot his load so high it hit my beard. But having had a nice guy the afternoon before, I wasn’t so concerned about cumming, just enjoying the moment.

After all, when you make love to a guy’s big toe in your mouth, everything else is old hat.

Thursday: Tito Reborn as Marcos.

Inside The Mind of a Writer: My Characters are Real – Shaw As Gil

I told of my real life encounter with one of the handsomest men I ever knew named Shaw. He eventually served as the basis for a character, Gil, in my novel, “The Czar of Wilton Drive,” available on amazon.com. “Czar” is the story of Jonathan Antonucci, a 21 year old, barely out-the-closet gay man from suburban New York who overnight finds himself a multi-millionaire, thanks to a bequest by his late gay great uncle. Uncle Charlie has unexpectedly died of a heart attack, leaving him the sole owner of several of the most successful bars in Wilton Manors, Fort Lauderdale’s gay ghetto. Flying down to Lauderdale to claim his bequest, Jon encounters Uncle Charlie’s dubious friends and business associates. In this scene he meets Gil, manager of one of Uncle Charlie’s bars, the Gear Shaft,” modeled after Lauderdale’s infamous leather bar, the Ramrod …

The Gear Shaft was a mile from the heart of the Wilton Drive action in a dingier part of town and, from outside, the place looked like a shack. It reminded Jon of the Black Maria, that clumsy, boxy garage that Edison had built as the first movie studio which Jon had visited in West Orange as a kid on a class field trip.

The difference was this shack didn’t make movies but almost a million dollars a year.

The large wood door, out of some medieval castle with an oversize metal handle that was actually a pull down bar from a gym, was unlocked. A slightly beat up, fading green Ford Fiesta was the only car in the front lot besides his. He figured it was Gil’s.

Jon walked into a dumpy looking bar all painted in black just like the outside, with old car parts, mufflers and fenders hanging from the ceiling. Behind the bar was an average height, well-built guy somewhere, Jon guessed, in his late thirties, with short cropped black hair and beard, wearing tight Levi’s and a black T that look like they had been sprayed painted on him.

But, oh, that handsome black Irish face. He and Ernie, Jon’s jerk-off buddy back East, used to judge guys’ looks and bodies like the two of them were commodity traders, tin for the losers, silver for up-and-comers, and gold for the stars that made them stiff in an instant.

This guy, he was platinum.

He was fiddling around with some glasses when he saw Jon and beamed a broad smile like a laser gun.

“Hey buddy,” he said, walking around to shake Jon’s hand, clutching it like he was lifting a barbell. “I’m Gil.”

First Marcos, one of Uncle Charlie’s fuck buddies, now Gil. Two beautiful men all in in less than twenty four hours. Jon couldn’t believe his luck.

“I know you probably heard this a hundred times by now…”

“Yea, I’m the spitting image of my uncle. Yea, I’ve heard it, but only about a dozen times.”

“Well, this is it, the golden shit hole as Charlie always called it,” Gil rattled on, “but it means a lot to the guys who come here. Believe it or not, this place is one of the last hot leather bars left in the country. We got our local boys, but the ones who love us the most are the tourists from all over the states and Europe, even Australia. You see, in most places, the leather scene guys like your uncle’s generation practically invented is dying faster than landline phones. Seems like the younger guys…”

“You mean guys my age.” added Jon.

Gil laughed. Jon was getting hard again and his PA was straining against his crotch.

“Well, the twenty and thirty somethings are into sports jock gear. They feel they look hot. But for guys like Charlie and me, leather is a life statement, not a fashion statement. It means you don’t take shit, like your sex rough, and live life on the edge. A lot of stand-up guy bars are losing that edge to twinks and their girlfriends ‘cause, in the end, it’s all about selling the booze. Charlie, though, saw it different, He bought the bar at a fire sale, the two daddies who owned the place were both sick and wanted out, and he was about ready to start a strict dress code on the weekends. If you weren’t wearing some kind of leather, you didn’t get in. Which would automatically cut out the girls and the toy boys.”

“You mean young kids like me again,” said Jon grinning.

“No, not you, buddy. I’m sure you look hot in leather.”

“Never got into it. You might say I’ve been content to just play the web and jerk off. At least up to now.”

Gil reached over and pulled up Jon’s T-shirt.

“Furry like your uncle. Yep, you’d look good in leather, buddy, damn good.”

“Well then you’re gonna have to outfit me sometime,” said Jon.

“If you don’t mind me asking, you a top?”

“You mean the guy who fucks? Well, I never thought about it. I mean, like I said, I’ve always played the web so…”

“In this life, in this town, you gotta decide what you are, what you want, a top or a bottom. Guys in the gray zone go nowhere.”

With that, Gil walked Jon around the bar to its pool table area with cartons of beer stacked practically to the ceiling, to the narrow outside patio bar which looked like a junkyard in the naked midday sunlight.

“At night, don’t matter how warm and sticky it gets, guys are packed out here shoulder to shoulder, grabbing crotches and nips, and a few other things, but we’ve got Bernie, our bouncer and one-man penis police, to watch they don’t turn this into a backroom. After all, you don’t wanna lose your liquor license just because two guys wanna get off.”

“So,” asked Jon, proud of his growing ballsiness, “did you and my uncle ever make it?” He remembered Gil’s name from the text messages on Uncle Charlie’s phone.

“Yea, we did,” replied Gil without skipping a beat as he showed Jon the back walk-in cold locker where they stored the beer for the night. “Hey, Charlie is, I mean, was a handsome older guy who sure as hell didn’t look or act like a guy in his sixties. But when we were on duty, we were all business.”

After another hour of talking inventory and staffing and mark-ups, Gil was talked out.

“Anything else I can show you for now?”

“Yea,” Jon laughed. “How I’d look in leather.”

“Why not? If you like, we can go to my place. It’s just around the corner. I’ve got plenty of shit you can try on til you find your look.”

They both left their cars, Jon’s BMW and Gil’s Fiesta, and walked over to Gil’s place which was on a cruddy looking street just behind the bar in a small dilapidated guest cottage hidden away in the back of a faded orange stuccoed ranch.

The studio apartment inside was a penitentiary cell pigsty, furnished with thrift shop furniture rejects and littered with half empty Gatorade bottles and Twinky wrappers. It was as alien to Uncle Charlie’s lush condo as the Amazon Rain Forest was to the farthest frozen moon of Pluto.

Gil walked over to a closet, pulled back some shower curtains, grabbed a wad of black leather duds and threw them on his air mattress bed.

“Hey, boss, strip, will ya, so I can see what works best with your body type.”

Jon did so hesitantly but more than willingly. He almost never wore underwear and his semi-hard PA’ed cock popped out of his levis like a jack-in-the-box as soon as he lowered them.

Gil gave Jon’s cock a quick, adoring glance, then returned to sorting the pile of cowhide lying on his bed.

“Nice touch,” he quipped. “I thought you said you never did leather before.”

“Well, I mean…”

“Your PA and nose ring and all that sexy dark fur, just like Charlie’s, are a good start. But I wanna make you a real leather man, not just one of those twenty somethings who wear it to look hot,” and with that Gil stripped off his sprayed-on black T to reveal a very furry muscular chest, shoulders and defined veiny arms. As he turned to grab a piece off the bed, Gil glimpsed a large blue, red and green winged eagle tattoo sprawled against the full length of his powerful shoulder blades.

Gil raised Jon’s arms up in the air, then yanked some kind of corset-like contraption over his arms, pulled it snugly down over his shoulders and snapped it in place.

“What do you call this?” asked Jon, feeling confined, yet suddenly very aroused as the leather strips bonded to his body.

“A bulldog. But remember, it’s not how you look in it, it’s how’s you feel. Here, turn around.”

“Suddenly Jon was gazing in front of a cracked wall length mirror at himself. He always thought he was a bit chicken chested but this, this bulldog applied downward pressure in just the right places so his little boy nips popped out and his chest looked like he’d just done a thousand reps on one of those gym masters. His dick tingled like it did when Ernie suddenly discovered some new hairy daddy on Grinder.

“So how do you feel Boss?” asked Gil, “I mean really feel?”

“Like I could fuck half the men in Lauderdale right now,” blurted Jon.

“And kick the shit out of the rest of ‘em, huh?”

“Yep.”

Gil tossed a black leather jockstrap on the floor in front of him.

“Slip this on.”

Jon was relieved to have something to cover up his quickly rising erection.

Gil walked over and adjusted the straps on the back, then gave Jon a playful slap on his right ass cheek.

“Those furry buns are the perfect added touch. I’d say you’re all ready for tonight.”

“Tonight?’ asked Jon puzzled. “But Mr. Applebee is holding that memorial reception tonight for my uncle at his place at 7…”

“You mean the Celebration of Life gig of Eddie’s? That’s what I’m talkin’ about Boss. I think you know now your uncle was a tried and true leather man and he would joke that he wanted everybody he knew to come to his wake as if they were headed for the Gear Shaft on a Saturday night. So…”

“So, no formal wear, no ties or button down shirts,” said Jon. He had planned on wearing his black jeans and a tan polo.

“No, maybe just a few thick heavy belts. Yes sir!”

For a micro second their eyes met, Jon staring at half naked Platinum Man, Gil at his young, near naked superior, then just as quickly, they both turned away.

“I need to get going,” announced Jon. “Got to get a nap in or I’ll end up falling asleep at Applebee’s, I mean Eddie’s, and I wouldn’t wanna be the party pooper.”

As he began to unsnap the harness, Gil, seeing him struggle, came over to help him.

“You can hold on to this if you like. You wear that tonight and I promise you’ll be adopted as somebody’s boy in twenty minutes.”

“Yea, but…”

“Yea, I know, it’s you, Rich Kid, who should be doin’ the adopting.”

At the Celebration of life for Charlie, Gil seduces Jon and brings him back to his place …

“So get comfortable,” said Gil as the two of them strolled into his studio, just as messy as the day before. “Gotta hit the head.”

Jon lay down on the air mattress, not knowing quite what to do or what to expect. All he knew is what he wanted.

The bathroom door was wide open and from his angle, Jon was able to see Gil in the vanity mirror. Pulling his mesh T off, he admired himself for a moment, then opened a drawer, pulled out what looked like a needle and stuck it very carefully in a vein of his arm. Jon watched the sudden rush on his face. Then as he turned to come out, Jon readjusted himself on the bed. Everything was so fast, Jon had no time to react to the moment. All that came immediately to his brain was the image Uncle Charlie had painted of his parents lying on that bed with needles sticking out of their arms.

Should he get up and leave?

Should he say anything?

Instead, Jon did nothing, waiting for the next cue from Gil.

“So you wanna smoke some stuff?” asked Gil casually as he reached over for a glass pipe. “You smoke before?”

“Grass, My j-o buddy Ernie and I would smoke a reefer before we started flipping through those profiles on Growl’r.”

“Same shit,” said Gil, holding a lighter under the glass globe of the pipe. “Just gives you a better high.”

Gil took a long puff, then handed the pipe over to Jon.

“Now move the globe back and forth a few times as I hold the lighter under it, take in a long puff, hold it in just a second or two, then let it out.”

Jon breathed in, then exhaled. Within seconds, a feeling of super-sensitivity enveloped him.

“Wow.”

“I told you this stuff was better than grass.” Gil took a puff, placed the pipe down in an ashtray on a plastic patio table that served as a bed stand, then reached over and, as he pressed his lips against Jon’s, he exhaled into his mouth.

Jon fell flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he felt Gil’s fingers embrace every inch of him. It was as if an electric charge was pulsating through him wherever Gil touched, first stroking the hairs on his chest down to his abs, then his crotch. Then he lay on top of him and began rubbing their beards against one another in some ritual dance.

Gil was the most beautiful man he had ever seen and now he was his. Totally, completely, forever his.

Within minutes, Gil had slipped off his jeans and pulled off Jon’s so the two of them lay there naked.

“Want this off?” said Jon, tugging at his bulldog harness he was still wearing.

“No, buddy, leave it on. You are so hot, fucker, and I’m not saying that just because you’re my boss. You’re just like Charlie. Only better.”

“How, how can I be better. Uncle Charlie knew so much more about all of this than I do. I feel like some country hick.”

“You won’t after today,” said Gil who began eating him up like a piece of hard candy he had just unwrapped. Jon could feel Gil’s massive cut cock, bigger than even Growl’r’s Hairy Aussie’s, digging against his abs. Then, after playfully sliding Jon’s PA around in his fingers through his pierced hole, Gil stuck Jon’s hard dick in his mouth, savoring it like a slow melting ice pop. He moved to Jon’s ball sac, swallowing each ball one at a time, tugging on them as Jon felt Gil’s tongue as they lay nestled in his mouth. He raised Jon’s legs in the air and darted the tip of his tongue in and out of his butthole.

Jon was on another planet.

“Hairy butt, love that,” murmured Gil. He lowered Jon’s legs back to the bed and suddenly bolted up on his knees, his dick twitching up and down like some toll gate in holiday traffic.

“OK, boss, now show me what I taught you.”

Just then he reached for the pipe.

“Want some more?”

“Shit yea,” said Jon positioning himself so his face was inches from Gil’s naked manhood. Two puffs later, he was devouring Gil’s tool like as if he had been doing it for years.

Uncle Charlie would have been proud of his queer nephew. Ernie would have thought he was crazy.

But he noticed Gil starting to go soft in his mouth.

“Am I doing it right?”

“Perfect, Boss, just perfect, my dick feels won-der-ful.”

It was then that Jon noticed his own cock going down a bit. This had never happened to him before. Even though it felt ten feet long.

“I think it’s time for your advanced course in a little kink,” said Gil and he reached over to the side of the mattress to retrieve a length of cord which he tied around Jon’s balls and then his own. Only a few feet of cord separated their sacs, but ever so slowly he began to stand up on the bed.

“Fucken hot,” said Jon, five light years from earth by that point as he watched their balls giggle in midair.
Jon’s cock itched to spurt, though he was wondering where his erection was going. Gil untied the cord on his balls, lowered himself back down to the bed and took a heavy drag on the pipe, blowing the smoke directly on Jon’s cock.

Instantly, Jon felt the tingle throughout his tool and Gil immediately swallowed his cock for two minutes before sliding it into his hairy butt hole. With that Jon exploded inside Gil and they both lay on the bed, smelly and spent.

“So how ya feeling Boss?” asked Gil smugly licking the sweat off Jon’s chest.

“I don’t know—I—I’ve never felt this way before…”

“Next time I want you to tie me up while you fuck me.”

He pressed his mouth to Jon’s ear.

“Oh, and by the way, welcome to Fort Lauderdale.” Then he placed Jon’s still dripping cock in his hand and gave it a kiss.

For a while they just lay there, side by side, Jon’s eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, counting every water stain and dust mark. Usually after he came with Ernie, both of them would take a fifteen minute power nap. But now he felt like he could run the New York Marathon.

“Why don’t we hit your place? said Gil.

“But I’m fine right here…”

“I mean your other place, the Gear Shaft. It’s underwear night. Should be festive.”

Jon scanned the barren room. Gil got up, grabbed a package of Twinkies from the kitchen shelf, unwrapped it and tossed one to Jon.

“Gil, what were you doing in the bathroom when we first came in?”

Gil grinned like a kid caught by his mother jerking off.

“Whata ya mean?”

“I couldn’t help seeing you in the mirror—you were using a needle…”

“Slamming, boss, just slamming,” answered Gil matter-of-factly.

“What’s—what’s that?”

“You know the stuff we just smoked?”

“Yea.”

“And how good it made you feel?”

“Sure, I’m still in fucken heaven. With you.”

“Well, if you use a microwave to liquefy it and then inject it into your arm, it works that much faster, that’s all. That’s slamming.”

Jon fiddled with his nose ring.

“So, you wanna give it a try? Make the way you feel now like a walk in the park compared to traveling to the moon.”

“But Gil, my folks, they—they died of a heroin overdose. They found them with the needles still in their arms…”

Gil started laughing uncontrollably.

“Shit, boss, it ain’t near anything like Big H. Hey, you ever take speed?”

“Sometimes, when I was out all night and had to work the following morning.”

“That’s all this is. Speed in the fast lane.” Gil ran his hand across Jon’s chest.

“So wanna give it a try before we hit the road?’

Jon gave a hesitant nod. All he thought as Gil was getting the stuff ready in the bathroom was how maybe he was one of those addictive personalities they talked about on Dr. Phil, that he had inherited his parents’ habit and was destined for this moment anyway. After all, if anyone could be an addict it was him. He didn’t have to work or worry about the money. He had all the money in the world now and wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.

“Make a fist,” said Gil as he looked for a vein. He hadn’t even finished injecting the liquid magic into his arm when a sudden, total rush of heat coursed throughout Jon’s body. It was like that sudden blast of heat Jon felt as he got off the plane in Fort Lauderdale airport. Only a thousand times squared.

Then he grabbed Gil tightly and began kissing him until their tongues had no place else to go.

“Hey lover,” murmured Gil.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” was all Jon could say as he fell to the bed. “Next time I want you to fuck me Gil, I want to know what it’s like to fucked by a man. I want you to stare into my eyes and fuck me…”

“You know I’m an obedient employee,” said Gil as he straddled Jon, grabbed his soft cock and paired it with his own, stroking them slowly in his hand. Then, still holding onto them, he leaned over and nestled his nose in Jon’s armpit and washed the stench away with his tongue.

“Fuck you Gil, fuck you,” Jon repeated over and over again. “Get on top of me,” and as Gil did, he dug his hands into the eagle tat on Gil’s back and held him against him like a vise.

All those years jerking off over guys’ pictures with his stupid, backward buddy when he could have had this.

This time it was Jon exploring Gil, his strong chest, firm abs and hairy thighs, then he mouthed his cock and balls for what seemed a lifetime, his own equipment tingling with each lick.

“Turn over, man.” he whispered.

Gil lay spread eagle, his powerful shoulder muscles pulsating in the dim light as Jon outstretched his arms across Gil’s hairy back and kissed his furry ass cheeks, gently, ever so gently guiding his nose, then his tongue deep into Gil’s warm butthole, matting the hairs around it.

“Beautiful, you—you are so beautiful,” Jon kept murmuring. “I can’t get enough of you, fucker. My beautiful, beautiful teacher. My beautiful, beautiful man.”

 

Inside The Mind of a Writer: My Characters are Real

Shaw

Shaw and I met – where else – but on one of the hook-up sites. It was almost two in the morning that first time. I had come home from another Tuesday underwear night at the Ramrod where I had slugged down four free rum and cokes in an hour in exchange for prancing around in my leather jock-strap and only went online when I got home out of my insatiable curiosity. When I saw his profile, a 5’10”, 180 pounds of, beefy hairy man, 39, mostly donned in leather, with dark hair and a ruggedly handsome, bearded face that would make any Hollywood scout whip out his casting couch, I hit him up as a joke, expecting no response.

Instead, he came back in seconds, mentioned he had seen me around and had wanted to hang with me for awhile. Huh.

Oh, and he wanted to do it now. Right now. My place.

I quick popped a Viagra, whisked out my leather harness and boots from my closet – he said that leather was a turn-on for him – and waited, with a pair of loose cut-offs and my leather jockstrap underneath, still expecting a no-show. Instead, what walked into my house 15 minutes later was one of the handsomest men I ever bedded down with.

His profile pics didn’t do him justice. He was all man, but not in a loud brassy way. Level headed sounding and bare chested, he didn’t need those chaps (with that beautiful, manly hairy butt hanging out) to make him Pure Hunk. He smiled broadly and gave me a kiss barely in the door.

“I’ve seen you around,” he murmured, “Ramrod, Clubhouse. In fact, I was just at the Clubhouse tonight. Supposed to be Leather Night, but Jesus …”

Clubhouse II was a bath house I had gone to religiously for years til it got tired and old, and Slammers opened.

“Yea, I know, pretty pitiful, huh,” I replied, gesturing him to follow me to the back bedroom. I still didn’t believe this was all going to happen.

I plopped down on the setae (perfect for sucking a guy’s cock) across from the bed as he sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“Like I said,” he murmured, “I’ve been wanting to make it with you for – well, for years. But I didn’t think you were interested in me …”

“Well, if I never looked your way, it was probably because I thought you were out of my league.”

“You’re kidding,” he said, standing in front of me, his leathered crotch practically in my face. “You are beautiful. Love the fur, love the face, love the body.”

I sniffed his crouch deeply, and then gave it a playful kiss.

“So why don’t we get down to the essentials and see what all the fuss is about?” I said, peeling off my shorts.

“Sure,” he said, unbuckling his chaps, “just one thing, mind if I take a hit?”

I shrugged my shoulders and played blasé as he pulled a thin clear plastic needle from his knapsack and shot himself in the arm.

Just like that.

“Just some Tina but it works faster this way – you want?”

“No, otherwise Mr. Peter” – I touched my rising dick – “ain’t gonna keep that hairy butt of yours happy.”

“Don’t worry,“ he smiled back. “ I’m happy already.”

A moment and he was down on his knees sucking my cock through my jockstrap which I flung to the floor ten seconds later.

“Fucken beautiful dick, man,” as he gently stroked my furry abs and chest and I softly pulled on his hairy nips and stroked his beefy, lightly furry chest.

“Like that Daddy Dick?” I prompted.

“Love that Daddy Dick,” he replied, softly kissing the cockhead. “That Daddy Dick’s my God tonight.”

Though my dick was hard, I knew it was not at its full potential, as I waited for that little click in my head to tell me my Viagra had kicked into overdrive, but that didn’t happen.

Not because of any deficiencies in the Furry Adonis in front of me, that was for sure, but probably the liquor I had consumed like an alcoholic trying to break some Ramrod Underwear Night Record less than an hour before.

“Let me suck your cock,” I said, gesturing Shaw to stand up. I rightly figured all my sucking wasn’t going to do much good with Girl Tina coursing through his veins. But I persevered for a few more minutes, then, bouncing my cock on my hand, asked the inevitable question every Top asks His Bottom.

“Want this Daddy Dick, boy?”

Without another word spoken, he got on his stomach, that broad shouldered lightly fuzzy back before me and that beefy, fury butt in my face as I tongued his hole and he moaned – like a man – “Fucken A, Dad, Fucken A.” Then I stood up, satisfied Mr. Peter was ready, pulled his butt close to me and entered him.

He seemed to like it – like it a lot, but I was just not happy with my performance and wish we had connected three hours ago, not now in the middle of the night with a liter of Bacardi in me. But I plowed him for a good half hour, in between tonguing his hole and he sucking my dick til we both lay quiet and sweaty on the bed.

“Sorry, man, all those free drinks at Ramrod zapped me.”

“Man, are you kidding, you were great. I wanna do it again with you, buddy.”

“At a civilized hour,” I added. “By the way, can you get those shots for the dick, you know the kind that keep those porn stars up and at it. I’ll – I’ll pay you ….”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Good, ‘cause next time I wanna plow you all night.”

Thursday: Shaw reborn as Gil