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