Sex in the Sky

“There was a time when you believed in Magic,” Lenore said quietly, all the while staring at me with those weird, gold cat’s eyes of hers. “Believed in the land of the Summer people.”

I hated it when she sprang that old soul shit on me. Not only was it creepy as hell, but the last thing I needed was to have to worry about past lives. I was having a bitch of a time just dealing with the one I was in, thank you very much. But I knew better than to argue with her.

“Okay whatever, there was a time when I believed in Santa Claus, too, and that passed.”

Lenore shook her finely braided head, setting off a soft musical swish of bells and beads. “You would be so much happier if you’d just try this. Really, a couple of good healing spells and some herbs and you’ll feel a whole lot better.”

“I still think a good curse or two would satisfy me a lot more,” I groused. “And if you aren’t willing to help me there, than what good are you?”

She sighed. She was talking to a stone wall and she knew it. “Arthur, how many times do I have to tell you, The Law of Three would turn that into a disaster for you.”

I knew she was serious about this. Lenore Pell is nothing if not serious. She’s my roommate and probably my best friend, but her one fault is that she’s totally lacking in a sense of humor. Especially when it comes to paganism, which she practices diligently.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “What ever you do to someone else, good or evil, will return to you thrice fold.” I rolled my eyes. “You Wiccans certainly take the fun out of witchcraft. You know, it’s just my luck that I end up being friends with the only black chick from New Orleans who doesn’t believe in Voodoo.”

She snorted regally. “That is not the path to spiritual harmony.”

“Fuck spiritual harmony; I just want a little human revenge!”

So started my rant. Lenore sat back and listened calmly, not even showing by so much as a curl of her lip that that she’d already heard my sad tale practically every day for the last year or so. But then I told you she was my best friend. When I’d found myself homeless she was the first person I’d called, and ten minutes later she had me sitting in her kitchen drinking some god-awful weed tea while I cried on her shoulder.

It wasn’t a very original story. Just the same old sordid number where the poor schmuck, me, Arthur, comes home and finds his one true love, Quinn by name and queen by game, in bed with a set of twins who’s combined ages wouldn’t have gotten them into an AARP meeting. At 34, I wasn’t ready myself, but still I was aware enough of the onset of my maturity that I was a little touchy when the subject of age came up. So it’s not much of stretch to figure out that finding two kids barely out of puberty rolling around on my Egyptian linen sheets pissed me off. A lot.

Quinn, of course was nothing if not contrite. He swore he’d been drunk. He swore he didn’t know what came over him. He swore he’d never do it again. I let him grovel for a couple of days before I forgave him.

Then I looked up a private investigating agency and had him tailed.

It didn’t take long for them to report back that the twins were only the last in a long line of guys willing to sink to their knees or spread their legs for an aging pretty boy who still looked a lot like Brad Pitt albeit after a heavy night on the town. Pretty soon I realized that it wasn’t so much a question of who’d slept with my boyfriend, but who hadn’t.

I’m one of those butch types, and I was very manly about it. I threw a hissy fit that would have made a diva blush. Quinn just shrugged his shoulders and gave me his best sad puppy look. He could make his eyes glisten with tears on cue. “Think about it… I mean, we’ve had four good years. How many people can even say that?” Since we’d been together for seven, this didn’t make me any calmer. I pointed to the door and asked him to leave. He went to the safe and pulled out the deed to the old Victorian I’d bought and showed me his name.

I’d forgotten about that. It’d been on our fifth anniversary, and I thought we were still a couple so… I’d added his name to the deed. My work had me traveling a lot around that time, and to a lot of places that weren’t all that safe. So being the kind of guy I am (or was, — I’m a lot more cynical now, post Quinn) I’d put him on the deed so if anything did happen to me, he’d be all set.

He was all set, all right. He celebrated with an 18 year old in the hot tub we’d installed that summer. Yup, Quinn Vere was all set.

But even after I realized my mistake, I still didn’t really think I’d lose the house. After all, I’d bought it, paid for it and dumped enough money into the renovations to fund a small country or two. For his part, Quinn hadn’t done anything so mundane as contribute financially. Even if he’d had a dime of his own, it would never have occurred to him. Instead, he’d wandered around with ba-gua charts and talked a lot about space and light and feng shui. He said we needed a welcoming house. Silly me. I didn’t realize he wanted to welcome every guy in the tri state area.

Unknowingly I’d given him every opportunity. Like I said, I was gone a lot, traveling for my job as an expansion analyst for a multinational conglomerate that was particularly fond of Central and South American locations that featured peasants who’d work for almost nothing and no pesky environmental regulations. Quinn didn’t have that kind of job. Or any job, for that matter. Quinn was an artiste, a painter; though what the hell he painted was a mystery to me. Every time I got near the studio I’d added on (cedar and southern exposure, and a couch that folded out to a bed) he’d scream and tell me he wasn’t ready to show anyone his work.

This sounds like I was the biggest dope in the world, but I had seen some of his stuff, that’s how we met. Quinn drew caricatures, really witty little sketches that he’d do at parties and give them out to friends – or enemies – of his victims. And even though they could be cruel, they were so funny. And he was so charming. Of course, everyone wanted him to do one of them.

But that’s all he ever did. The paintings he talked about, the sculptures he planned, never materialized and after a while I realized they probably never would. I was disappointed, but I figured what the hell. I made a very good living, and if he wanted to stay home and be a househusband it didn’t matter to me.

Then came the twins.

I took him to court. I had all the legal papers, the bills, the check stubs with my signature. All Quinn had was that damned deed and photographs of an empty studio that he said was the only way he could now support himself. He also claimed that I’d insisted that he stay home. That my job and my hours had made me worry about the amount of time the house would be empty if he found other (any) employment. He cried when he told the judge that it hurt his pride to have to live off me, but he’d done it because I’d begged him too. It was laughable. My attorney told me it was going to be piece of cake.

It was cake all right. Sponge cake, and Quinn used it to soak up everything he could. The house, half my assets and the little BMW he’d just had to have. I’d only made 3 payments on it before the Hardy Boys showed up in my bed. I even had to pay the court costs. Sometimes I think Quinn must have fucked the judge. After the last court day, he took fifty of his nearest and dearest out on a chartered yacht and celebrated. I know he’d done most of them.

Once again, I was finishing up my story to Lenore, and bless her heart, she was still awake. “You know, I really don’t care about Quinn anymore. I mean, sure I’d enjoy hearing how his dick fell off. And maybe if he could develop a terminal case of anal warts…”

“It would only be fair,” Lenore agreed quickly, nodding when she was expected to, but concentrating on that damn cat of hers. “Sweet Oscar,” she called him. Sweet Oscar hated me, because I knew him for what he was. The Devil’s Own. Oscar stretched and jumped down, looked me over like I was something in his box, and flipped me off with his tale.

“Exactly,” I smiled mistily, this was always the part that really choked me up. Thinking of all that lost money always had that effect. “But really, it’s the house I miss. Damn, I just loved that house.”

“I know sweetie, that’s why I want you to try these new herbs and this spell. I’ve been doing some research and…”

“Oh God, Lenore, don’t you ever give up with that stuff?”

She shook her head, “Not when I know it will make you feel so much better. Lot’s better than that glass of scotch you’re sucking on. Especially in the morning.” She stood up and dug into the pocket of her jeans. “Here’s the address of a shop. I want you to go over there and ask for Abigail Williams, she’s the woman I’ve been talking to about this.” She fixed those gold eyes on my baby blues and squinted as she took on a warning tone. “She’s very nice and quite knowledgeable, and you better be polite to her. Don’t be yourself. She won’t think much of some smart ass who thinks Magick means pulling a rabbit out of a hat.”

I’d heard this before, and I caught that thin smile on her lips. “I get it now. Someone got an eye for a bit of new carpet?”

I’d wondered what brought on this sudden concern for my happiness. Usually Lenore thought it was enough to just listen to me moan once or twice a day. She’d even stopped offering me the weed tea after the first week. But Lenore was a dyke with a sexual appetite for women that almost rivaled Quinn’s for men, although she was a hell of a lot more honest and up front with her tricks than he was. So if she was trying to get the franchise on this Abigail woman…

I looked down at the card she’d handed me, and then I really did laugh. Salem’s Odd Lots, it read, in big Gothic letters. Specialty Goods for the Special Arts was just below it. Something else, too, but hard to see. I could barely make it out, but I held the paper up to the light better and squinted. Hey, I’m in acquisitions, after all. You’ve got to check the fine print. A Loki International Company.

“God, you are so crude. Not everything is about sex.” She shook her dark head and tried to look disgusted, but I knew her too well to miss the predatory gleam that had come into those funky eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what this is all about,” I smirked. “You want to snack on some new Berber and you’re using me as a way to get this chick to come around with her samples.”

She flipped me the finger and went into the kitchen to whip up a little tofu Wellington and that was the end of the conversation. I jammed the card back in my pocket and forgot about Salem’s Odd Lots and didn’t think of it again until three days later when I stopped off at TheaTrix, which claimed to be a theatrical supply company, although God knows how they made ends meet out here. If there was any theatre in the area, I didn’t know about it. But apparently they had no qualms about offering up their inventory for the holiday season. I’d called around in desperation, because I’d put Halloween off like I put off everything these days, and finally came across it in the yellow pages. A woman by the name of Elizabeth Parris said she had something that would be perfect for me.

“You don’t even know my size,” I’d growled at her.

“Trust me,” she’d said, and hung up. I copied the address and wondered why it sounded familiar. I drove across town to get there and the door was locked. I swore. Then I saw a note taped to the door with my name on it. “Turn left. See Abigail at SOL. She’s waiting for you.” The initials said EP.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sign with an arrow that said Salem’s Odd Lots and pointed down an alley. At first, I couldn’t remember why I knew that name, but then it came back to me. I wasn’t going to stop, but then I’d remembered all the nice things Lenore had done for me in the last year and thought fuck it. And I did need that costume. I’d go see Lenore’s little girlfriend and try and push the course of true lust a little farther along the path. Sure I didn’t believe in all those herbs and spells and crap, but it wouldn’t hurt either and it would make Lenore happy.

I walked into the alley. Jesus, it was cold suddenly. The sun had been out, but as I stepped in between the two tall old buildings that flanked the entrance it went behind a cloud and an icy wind swirled up from my feet and found it’s way to the back of my neck. I shivered and looked for the store so I could get away from it.

It was pretty gloomy in that alley and at first I couldn’t see much. I heard the sign more than saw it. A metal plaque that hung on a rod set at right angles over the door. It screeched as the wind caught it, the sound like fingernails on a blackboard. Automatically I walked over and reached up to hold it and it was then that I saw it was the place I was looking for.

I tried to look inside through the door but there was a drape over the window so I gave it up and opened the thing. It opened silently and I walked into a room that looked to be even darker than the alley. My eyes struggled to adjust and my nose twitched with the urge to sneeze from the strong smell of dust and mold and incense. But I was beginning to be able to see and the place looked clean enough, just your average New Age shop with lots of old books and shelves packed with jars and plastic bags full of weird plants and big brown pills an elephant would have trouble swallowing. Yeah, it looked normal; at least there was nothing there that I could see to explain to me why the whole place gave me the creeps.

“Can I help you?”

“Shit!” I jumped and turned in midair to face the female with the low voice that seemed to whisper right in my ear.

I looked up. And kept on looking. This had to be the tallest woman I’d ever seen outside of the WBA. I’m not short at 6 feet, but she had me beat by at least 4 or 5 inches. She was pretty though, maybe sexy, too, if you’re into that side of things, which I definitely am not. She had wild, curly strawberry blonde hair that hung down to her ass and the long flowery dress she wore enforced the image of gypsy’s and crystal balls. Her eyes were blue, but dark, almost purple, and they weren’t cruel, but they weren’t kind either. She looked at me like she was taking stock and the results were somewhat less than impressive.

I cleared my throat, “Are you Abigail?”

“Yes. And you, I think, are Arthur Moineau…” she said with an appraising look. “I’ve been expecting you.”

My eyes widened and I grinned, “Of course… Lenore must have told you I’d be stopping by.”

This made her almost smile, “Well, something like that.” She nodded and then turned and glided away until she disappeared into the gloom of one of the back corners of the shop.

I stood there feeling disturbed and slightly foolish. Was it my breath, or did Lenore forget to give me the secret password? Then I realized something. I hadn’t known I was going to come here, so how the hell had Lenore told this woman to expect me? “Dummy,” I told myself. “It was Elizabeth Parris who told her.”

It must have been five minutes that I waited for the mysterious Ms Williams to return. After the first couple, I forced myself to wander around and take a look at the place. I wasn’t interested, you understand, I just thought I’d look less ridiculous if I pretended I was actually doing something besides waiting for the wicked witch of the Midwest to grace me with her presence.

There wasn’t much to see unless you’re seriously into paganism. This was the real deal for it if you were, though, even I could see that. This was nothing like those stores at the malls that had cute names like Do You Believe in Magick? and sold cute candles in the shape of dragons and hocked genuine bee pollen for men, with signs saying it was guaranteed to make your stinger bigger. This shop didn’t go in for cute. If it carried bee pollen at all, you’d find it in little baggies, with hand-printed labels that had no instructions, the inference being, I presume, if you didn’t know how to use it then you had no business buying it.

The books were equally as obscure. They were piled in odd corners with no thought to organization, at least as far as I could see, and cheap paperbacks were squashed between books that looked like they’d been around when witch burning held the same fascination that Monday Night Football does now. There was one that caught my eye, way up on the top shelf, a real page-turner called The Trials of 1692: The Question Comes to New England. But it had an interesting leather cover and I’ve always liked old books so I stretched my arm up to the shelf to take it down. Instead my hand brushed something that felt hard and scaly.

“What the hell?” I snatched my hand back and tentatively looked up. It was a stuffed bird. A small owl, actually.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” I muttered to it idiotically. I could have sworn it wasn’t there when I’d first seen the book.

A shaft of weak light made it’s way through a cracks of the curtain and as I watched, it seemed to aim for the owl’s eyes and made them glow. I stared at it, mesmerized, and then horrified as those eyes slowly blinked at me. Involuntarily I backed up and might have kept on going if I hadn’t bumped into something soft and warm.

“Dammit!” I shouted, and turned to see Abigail Williams once again standing directly in back of me.

“You know, you swear too much,” she said calmly.

“And you should wear a bell,” I muttered.

She ignored me and handed me a paper bag full of light and crunchy things. I looked in — herbs, lots of them.

“These should help you, ask Lenore for help if you don’t know how to use them properly,” the look on Abigail’s face told me she didn’t think there was a chance in hell that I did.

“Okay,” I agreed meekly. “How much do I owe you?”

“$79.99.”

“Holy shit! I had no idea it would cost this much!”

She sniffed, “Money is never a way to judge the true price of anything.”

“It is when the VISA bill comes,” I grumbled and shook my head, but dug my hand into my wallet until I located the little piece of plastic I never leave home without and handed it to her. She disappeared again, but not for so long and when she came back she had two packages in her arms.

“Here,” she gave me the charge receipt, then the larger of the two packages. “Miss Parris says this is for you. She said you could discuss the price later.”

I picked up the small package. My costume, I supposed. What did she save for me, underwear? “And I don’t quite know where this came from,” she continued, “but this seems to be for you, too.” She said, handing me the second package.

It was a book, I could tell right away, a trade paperback of some sort. “What is it?” I asked suspiciously and added. “And how much?”

Abigail shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I guess Lenore must have called back and gotten Luke, the new guy. And it says no charge.”

I looked again; it did indeed. I said my goodbyes and left the shop. It was getting dark and the place was unsettling enough without that added touch of atmosphere.

I walked into the kitchen and dumped out the contents of the paper bag. Ugh! Most of it looked like the stuff that had been growing under the back porch at my old, sigh, house when I’d had it torn down. I picked up the other package and started to unwrap it. The first rip told me what it was or at least what kind of book my oh-so-funny roommate had decided I couldn’t live without.

Wicca For Dummies, the yellow lettering on the black background blared out at me. Includes Software!!!, was what the red sticker on the corner of the front page added. Sure enough, inside the back cover was a cellophane envelope with a CD showing in the inside. “Warning,” it said on the outside, “PC’s only, not compatible with Macs. We don’t do apples any more!”

“Nuh-uh!” Phil said, and too scraped away from Colt’s incisors.

“We’re gonna fuck your ass,” Jason said.

Colt’s white briefs of cotton finished propping up in front like a battalion tent. “You wanna stick your wiener up my butt?”

“You got that right, Colty boy,” Jason said.

“Then, what’s keeping you?”

“You little piece of—” Jason said, going for Colt’s jugular. “Crap! Help me out of this.”

Like the cleats of the rest of the team, Jason’s black cleats had three vertical stripes of white on each side. Toward Phil, Jason extended his foot.

Phil pulled off Jason’s black cleat.

Jason extended his other foot toward Phil.

Phil pulled off Jason’s other cleat. Then, Phil stretched forth each of his lower legs toward Jason.

Touching Phil’s soiled cleats and white socks brought an emotional intensity to Jason’s chest. Jason peeled off Phil’s white socks of nylon—and found himself enjoying the feel of Phil’s feet. This shocked, scared, and amazed Jason.

Across the bright room, the other athletes knelt onto the bench and got into a curious chain. Kyle ended up sandwiched between Wesley in front and Felipe in the back.

Phil eyed the trio. “Way to go!” Swiftly, he stepped off his crumpled pants, cup strap, and white briefs.

Jason followed Phil’s lead, astounded that six briefs of white could be such a turn-on. How Jason’s chestnuts churned!

Jason shoved Colt to the floor, yanked up the second baseman’s legs, and screwed off Colt’s black cleats.

Phil fluttered his pale fingers over Colt’s white socks of nylon. “Oooh!”

“Look!” Jason shouted. “Colt has a boner!”

“Yeah!” Phil said, his normally reserved voice loosened up. “Colt likes this kinky stuff.” Phil lifted the sophomore’s lower legs further up and brusquely kissed one of Colt’s soles.

“Give me that!” Jason demanded. He grabbed Colt’s foot and sniffed Colt’s white sock.

The warmth of skin-under-nylon electrified Jason’s nose and fingers.

“Let’s pull off Colt’s pants!” Jason said.

Phil tugged Colt’s tight uniform along the left.

Jason tugged along the right. “We’re gonna plow your ass, so you better get that lube sissies use.”

Wesley whistled.

On the shale mega-tiles of the floor, Colt tilted his head back as though it were a football.

Wesley threw Colt something that looked like a white tube of toothpaste.

Colt caught it as if snipping a fly off the air with pincers.

The dangle of Jason’s prong rose toward the ceiling’s white tiles of melamine. “Let me help you with those whities.”

“Yeah!” Colt said, his voice that of a frat boy freshman. “Get me naked.”

At last, Phil shook off Colt’s striped pants of white.

Jason thought that Phil had shaken a blanket. What, Jason wondered, was happening to his mind?

Colt held up his crisp legs with the raw power of his knees. Although lean as the lower branches of an oak tree, Colt’s legs looked wider and more robust than on the diamond.

Such beefiness solidified Jason’s hard-on.

Jason looped the white briefs around Colt’s knee bend and shucked them off.

Colt let his legs fall. He rubbed that silver gel of Wesley’s onto his puckered hole of pink. As if doing backstrokes, Colt pulled some green baseball shirts toward the underside of his raised back. Then, Colt lowered the back of his head onto the shale mega-tiles of the floor.

Jason knelt on the big tiles and brought Colt’s calves toward his toned shoulders.

Phil seized Jason’s arm. “I’m going first.”

“No, you’re not,” Jason said. Not caring that Phil was tall as 6′ 2″ Kyle, Jason shook his arm away.

Phil grabbed Jason’s tawny arm again and hauled it away from Colt.

Jason hauled his arm in the other direction … and nearly fell.

“Just flip something,” Kyle said, a yard in front of them.

The sophomores stopped to the senior’s words. So did Felipe his pumping forward into Kyle’s butt—and Wesley his humping backward onto Kyle’s dick. Quickly, Wesley reached into his green locker of metal and threw his credit card to Jason.

Jason snatched it off the air. “Heads!”

“Tails!” Phil countered.

On Jason’s left palm, the card landed upside down.

“Woof!” Phil said and knelt into position.

Reluctantly, Jason got up and tossed the card to Wesley.

The fairy with beautiful irises of deep blue caught the item and chucked it right. Like the steel wheels of a gondola on a railway, Wesley’s party resumed moving in rhythms of chug, chug, chug.

Jason was so turned on that he thought that Wesley, Kyle, and Felipe were actually rolling forward on the bench.

Phil’s freckled face emitted a deep pink under the shadow of his cap visor. “You want more of my wiener?”

“Yeah, man!” Colt said. “Fuck me harder!”

Phil thrusted harder than a pestle pounding a mortar.

“Whoo-hoo!” Colt said. “Fuck the cum out of me!”

The dark-blue “salute” of Phil’s baseball cap jerked toward Colt’s forehead.

Colt’s calves shook on Phil’s shoulders like logs on a jouncing truck. The butterscotch curls on Colt’s calves shook along.

Watching that scene from above everyone turned Jason’s blood into all of the world’s rapids.

As if releasing a bowling ball, Jason bent down and spanked Phil.

Phil jolted right. “Hey!”

Jason straightened up. Again, he stooped, and on Phil’s buttock of light cream, Jason released the weight of his arm-heavy hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Phil bellowed.

“Getting even.” Jason erected himself triumphantly.

“If you can’t hold yourself, go fuck Mr. Panty-Briefs over there.”

“”Coño, no!”" Felipe said. He drove his swarthy hips into Kyle’s behind for the last time. “Wesley is “mine.”"

Swift as a stage crew at the end of a scene, Wesley, Kyle, and Felipe shifted the props of their moist bodies. Wesley and Kyle ended up lying across the bench—faceup—with their legs in the air. Felipe brought Wesley’s calves to his strong shoulders, pressed his stick forward, and squeezed a loud heave from the first baseman. Felipe pulled back. Upon reentry, Felipe’s cucumber drew a louder pant from Wesley.

* * * *

Felipe’s bedroom eyes glazed into Wesley’s angelic orbs.

Wesley gazed back into Felipe’s irises of dark-brown. Wesley’s large pupils, in turn, dilated even more.

“”Caramba!”" Felipe grunted in Spanish. His sweaty voice echoed as potently as he was shorter than Wesley.

Wesley moved his pink hips in quick, small circles. “I bet your girlfriend doesn’t shake her booty like this.”

“Heck, no!” Felipe said. “She’s too modest for that.”

“I almost feel guilty for stealing your cream from her,” Wesley lipped.

“No, you don’t.”

Wesley continued to speak in that mellifluous voice of his. “Is fucking my ass better than fucking your girl’s pussy?”

Felipe” “pressed down Wesley’s hamstrings as if leveling the inclined back of a workout bench. “See if you can take this!” Felipe said, driving his dick to the hilt on “this.”

“Ouch!” Wesley wailed.

“Say another word about my girl, and you’ll get twice of that.”

“Oh, God,” Wesley said, rolling his half-saucer eyes.

Steady as a washing machine on scrub cycle, the catcher kept pumping into the first baseman. The bench creaked with the thirst of an un-oiled door. Wesley’s head, in turn, tapped the crown of Kyle’s head with the rhythm of a bumping car.

Felipe’s short waves of coffee bean brown kept swaying fore and aft. “”Carajo!”" he said. “Your dirty “culo “is delicious.”

“You like your sausage up my “culo”?” Wesley said.

“”Coño, sí!”"

Wesley humped his tush up. “What about now?”

“”Puñeta!”" Felipe said. He thrusted back.

“Yeah,” Wesley said, shaking his stuffed corkscrew. “Fuck my ass!”

Straight bangs of golden-yellow and aubergine streamed with gaps over Wesley’s forehead.

Felipe clawed Wesley’s lowlights. “”Sí, maricón!” “Sí, maricón!” “Felipe gasped, pistoning faster.

Wesley shook back and forth brusquely; he let go the pink foreskin of his wiener; and strings of pre-cum drooped from his dick like glue from a turned bottle.

Felipe’s semi-round nose started to make guttural noises. “Take my straight cock up your hot “culito.”"

Wesley’s eyelids fluttered half-shut.

“Huh! Huh!” Felipe chuffed. His abdominal muscles flexed and relaxed with the rhythm of a locomotive. Felipe tightened his grip on Wesley’s shins and calves, threw his squarish face back, and convulsed like a washer at the end of spin cycle.

Kyle clapped slow and loud. “Hooah!”

Jason became aware that Kyle was standing beside him.

Felipe collapsed onto the chiseled marble of Wesley’s chest, slid off, and hit the floor.

Jason unfroze his exhale. To his astonishment, he discovered that he had held his breath for quite some time.

* * * *

Phil squeezed the base of his dick as though pissing on himself. Like this, he bopped toward Wesley, knelt on some white socks that were bestrewn on the floor, and fed his cock into Wesley’s pooper.

Wesley let his heels descend onto Phil’s square shoulders.

Phil withdrew and pressed his cannon in long strokes. “Man!” he heaved. “Your ass is swimmier than I expected.”

Wesley’s rosy cheeks bunched up in a grin. His white incisors of porcelain showed. And Wesley’s sapphire irises of liquid smiled at Phil with the joy of a child.

“So hairy and tight,” Phil went on.

“You like that, don’t you?” Wesley said.

“Wouldn’t you like that.”

Like a couple of pythons, Wesley’s calves wrapped around Phil’s lower back.

Phil’s walnuts began to slap Wesley—and sounded like squelches of soft mud. “You’re a true fox,” Phil said. “You know that?”

Wesley whiffled a cracked ah, and the golden-yellow hairlets on his lower legs caressed Phil’s back.

Phil straightened his spine and revealed his drum-tight chest of canvas. He pumped harder into Wesley’s waste hole. “You like being the darling of the team, huh?”

“God, yes!” Wesley said.

“But you lost the game for us,” Phil said. “I gotta make you pay for that.”

“Stop!” Wesley whined.

“You need real punishment.”

Wesley shut tight his half-saucer eyes. “I need a time-out!”

“I thought you were a pouf,” Phil said, spitting droplets on “pouf.”

“I am!”

“And don’t poufs like getting stuffed like wild turkeys?” Phil said.

“Yes, but—”

“Then, take my straight cock!” To and fro, the center fielder kept jolting the first baseman’s svelte physique.

Wesley rubbed the turbofan engines that huddled against each side of the fuselage of his willy.

“You’ve been a naughty boy,” Phil said. “Somebody’s gotta teach you a lesson.”

“I learned! I learned!” Wesley panted.

“Fuckin’ pansy! I can’t believe I’m about to—” Phil squalled the cry of a tackled quarterback; he threw his mildly beaked nose toward the white indented light above him; and he pinched shut his hooded eyes of gray, white, and black.

Wesley fondled his testes faster; he thrashed his head; and he banged it on the aqua cushion.” “I’m gonna rip!” “Wesley screamed.

Wesley’s birdie squirted the arcs of a rainbow. Except for the color, the ropes of raw egg white reproduced that curve of nature—beginning past Wesley’s prepuce and ending on Wesley’s neck, pecs, and abs. Wesley then melted like an ice cube on a hot tarmac.

Amazingly, Phil continued to grind his hips. The tower of his body, however, collapsed, slipped off the bench, and plopped by Felipe.

* * * *

Never had Jason imagined that the missionary position would be a cinch between men. The fact that Wesley could arouse other guys as much as any chick boosted Jason’s excitement more than the biggest home run ever could.

“Your turn, bro,” Kyle said, cuffing Jason’s sand-colored butt.

Jason turned his face right with the briskness of lightning.

Kyle stepped toward Wesley and scooped up some raw egg white from the first baseman. Despite his stooping, Kyle’s nates held firm as the stringed seeds of peeled coconuts.

Jason marveled at the contrast between the paleness, sturdiness, and baby softness of Kyle’s rumps.

Up his crack, Kyle inserted the rake of his gluey fingers.

Hard as Jason found to admit it, Kyle’s duff cheeks were more scrumptious than Jason could have ever imagined. Moreover, the thought of a cock in there seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Kyle walked toward his end of the bench. His veiny dick pointed shakily at the white ceiling. Kyle sat on the aqua cushion of the bench, lowered his back of deep peach, and raised his tanned legs.

Something about a handsome man’s opening himself like that fired up the panther in Jason. He knelt on some white briefs that were scattered on the floor, squeaked apart the pincers of Kyle’s tanned legs, and fed his wheat-colored cock into Kyle’s split-open fig.

Kyle pushed as if on the throes of bodily evacuation.

Part of Jason wanted to pull out in disgust. Part of him reveled in the vulgarity of it all.

Jason squeezed the ripe papayas of Kyle’s calves and slowly pumped into the pitcher.

The amber pubes of Kyle’s anus pressed raunchily around Jason’s dick. The bushiness of those curls brought further friction to the tautness of Kyle’s butt.

Jason found this pubic seasoning mind-blowing. Pussies, by contrast, lacked hair inside. Disconcerted as part of him felt, Jason could not deny that guys’ asses resisted with a tightness and a coarseness that made fucking them seem more invasive—and thus, more wickedly thrilling—than shagging girls’ cunts. How, Jason wondered, could nature have made the backdoor more appealing to the animal in men?

With the coldness of ice, the shale mega-tiles of the floor ironed part of Jason’s knees.

Jason tried to focus on the warmth of Kyle’s innards.

The feel of Wesley’s milk fueled Jason’s excitement. Something about mixing his semen with a teammate’s—inside the ass of another player—felt exquisitely dirty in a way that Jason had never thought himself capable of enjoying.

Jason’s short hair of honey-brown flowed back like a fountain.

Kyle zagged his strong fingers through the silk of Jason’s hair. “Ram me harder!” Kyle said.

“You want true punishment?” Jason answered.

“I thrive on it!”

“I bet you do,” Jason said. “After all, you allowed our rival team to score “10 “runs.”

As if engaged in a staring contest, Kyle’s baby blues hooked into Jason’s hazel globes.

Jason forced his eyes to stay locked on Kyle’s. Jason found this easier than expected, for Kyle’s baby blues were warm as tepid soup.

Jason slunk his rager deeper into Kyle’s bowels. “Deep enough?” Jason said through his eyes.

Kyle grunted.

“So this is how you bis have risen to 24% of the population,” Jason said. He thrusted harder into Kyle’s tunnel. “By getting more of us straights horny enough to come around to your brand of sexuality.”

Kyle roared like summer thunder in North Carolina.

Jason gasped. “And in your recruitment plan, you draw no distinctions between your kind . . . and mine.”

“This is good practice, bro,” Kyle said breathily. “That way, you can fuck your girlfriend with more gusto—and get her pregnant a whole lot faster.”

“You better pray I do because if not, you’ll get “double” the pounding I’m giving you now.”

“Oh, man,” Kyle said.

Jason’s balls slapped Kyle noisily.

The bench creaked faster than a railroad car jigging at 90 miles an hour. Kyle’s lower legs hung off Jason’s upper arms “frog style,” and Kyle’s tanned legs danced as if in such a train.

Jason slowed down, grabbed one of Kyle’s feet, and sniffed its sole.

The smell of dried sweat and of leftover laundry detergent tickled Jason’s nostrils like a feather.

Jason’s hot dog throbbed with lust. “This was too much! “Yet, he couldn’t stop nuzzling Kyle’s pinkish sole. Never had Jason found a girl willing to permit anything radical in bed. Now, Jason’s heart warmed like a baking cookie.

Kyle crackled with the airiness of a growling stomach.

Jason planted a kiss on Kyle’s callused sole.

“Fuckin’ A!” Kyle said.

Jason sucked Kyle’s big toe like a baby boar starving for milk. With a scowl, Jason shut his eyes halfway and moaned. Abruptly, Jason backed away from Kyle’s toe and descended onto one of Kyle’s hard teats.

“Alright,” Kyle encouraged.

Jason licked Kyle’s nipple. Remarkably, the mesa was pronounced as a woman’s teat. This filled Jason with wonder at the similarities between men and women. The flatness of Kyle’s mounds, however, reminded Jason that he was connecting with the wrong sex. The profoundness of Jason’s rebellion rocked him with the suddenness of a storm draft. Nevertheless, Jason hankered to explore more of his masculinity this way in the future.

Jason kneaded Kyle’s opposite pec three times harder than he dared to caress any girl’s breast.

“Looks like Jason is going bi,” Kyle said.

Jason hoisted his lips from Kyle’s erect nipple. “And you’re gonna pay for it,” Jason said. His tense lips almost touched Kyle’s lax ones.

The pitcher puffed on the right fielder, slow as a passing cloud and light as a wedding veil.

Jason intensified his ins and outs. “I wonder what your girlfriend says about this.”

“She doesn’t mind,” Kyle breathed on Jason. “We have agreed to have an open relationship.”

“You have?” Jason said. “Then, maybe you’ll let me have her one of these days.”

“I’ll see what she says,” Kyle said glibly.

Jason pulled his sand-colored trunk up from Kyle’s one of tanned peach.

The skin of Kyle’s legs emitted the smell of a pancake skillet—one charcoal-hot, sprayed with nonstick butter, and steaming upon contact with cold water.

Jason allowed his oval nostrils to inhale Kyle’s flesh. The irony was that this most unromantic of smells electrified Jason’s hormones the way a magical sprinkle ignited a morning mist in a recent holovision movie. Jason snuffed the camel curls of Kyle’s shin.

The room’s air conditioner switched on in reply, and the breathing of its ducts sounded as if a blizzard were raging outside of the locker room.

Jason kissed the beef-under-grass of Kyle’s lower legs.

Kyle licked a forefinger, circled it on his drying areola, and dreamily shut his eyelids.

Jason frowned in confusion, for he had never witnessed this style of self-pleasuring. After all, dudes were supposed to feel girls’ bodies, stimulate chicks’ nipples, and give them pleasure. 65% of men played by this rule. Yet, Kyle was breaking one of the fundamental definitions of manhood. Or rather, he was “redefining” the mainstream’s definition, twisting a gender double standard that only allowed girls to pleasure themselves that way. In so doing, Kyle was showing the team a new model of male freedom—the freedom of men to enjoy “their own bodies” beyond simple meat beating.

In rapid succession, Kyle squeezed and released his crab apples.

What a queer method of masturbation, Jason thought.

Like a ship looming out of a fog, Colt approached Jason from the left.

“What the hell?” Jason said.

Colt stroked his monster dick downward. “Why are you rubbing your nuts?”

Kyle answered, “Because I know that, more than likely, I’ll have to take another cock up my butt. Thus, I can’t allow myself to cum, yet.”

“Then, you can prepare my dick for the main course by sucking it,” Colt said. With that, he reclined his razed knee on the aqua cushion of the bench, leaned down, and sank his wad into Kyle’s mouth.

Kyle sucked Colt’s glans as though it were a pom-pom.

“Fuckin’ bi wanker!” Colt said. He contorted his supple face in pain.

The penis-mouth interaction made the sounds of a puppy lapping water from a bowl. Kyle, in turn, gazed at Colt with a desire large enough to swallow the Caribbean.

Colt narrowed his blue-gray irises on Kyle’s baby blues. Both sets of pupils were Os in large font.

Jason began to panic. Some invisible chord snapped in him. This made Jason more eager than ever to fulfill the queerest of fantasies.

Kyle’s wet lips slid up and down Colt’s zucchini. They lathered it with the skill of a masseur and slapped Colt’s pubes faster and harder.

Colt grinded his pink hips in unison with Kyle’s peach lips.

Jason thrusted roughly into Kyle’s end hole.

Kyle shook toward Colt’s cock.

Jason felt like “he” was sucking Colt’s dick. Half of Jason got off on that. Half of him did not.

Kyle made a fist around Colt’s dick and sucked harder.

“Now, “this” is what I’ve been trying to get my girlfriend to do,” Colt said.

Kyle slipped off Colt’s hot dog. “Is that so? Then, you’re in for a treat.” Kyle flicked Colt’s frenulum, dragged his tongue downward, and sucked Colt’s balls.

“Unfuckin’ believable!” Colt yelled.

Kyle bit around the base of Colt’s sperm sack—not too hard, not too soft.

Colt threw his head back, panted like a hog, and gripped Kyle’s front-combed hair of khaki. Then, Colt pulled the short brush of Kyle’s hair—up and down, right and left.

The more Colt pulled Kyle’s khaki hair, the more Jason wanted to punish Colt for leading the team down this path.

Jason humped violently into Kyle’s rectum.

Fright descended upon Jason like a round of drizzle. For him, the mere thought of an anus sucking a fluid meant for reproduction was more than his psyche could process.

“Your turn,” Jason said. He slipped out of Kyle’s pipe down under.

Colt backed his walnuts away from Kyle’s mouth, sashayed down the bench, and knelt on the same white briefs that lay on the floor. “Man,” Colt said, his cock goosing the zipper of Kyle’s behind. “Your ass feels “incredible!”"

“So does your frankfurter,” Kyle answered.

Colt’s rumps of light cream scrunched like power balls inside tautening fists.

Jason knelt behind Colt and poked Colt’s butt crack with his dick. To Jason’s amazement, Colt’s cleft was still wet from Phil’s ejaculate. Jason pressed his stick further in between Colt’s giant testicles of meat and muscle.

“I feel like I’m gonna shit,” Colt said, about to lose it.

“Push like you’re taking a dump,” Kyle chimed in.

“Listen to your buddy,” Jason gruffed, “as I’m gonna cream your ass.”

“I feel like my crap chute is gonna tear in two!” Colt said in crescendo.

“Allow yourself to enjoy cock in the back alley,” Kyle said.

For Jason, the idea of gayness being catchable was intoxicating. Observing Colt in the thrill of discovery could not match the highest heaven. Seeing and hearing his teammates in the throes of lust hammered Jason’s heart like a mallet bread dough. Something about heteroromantic athletes turning biSEXual fired up Jason like few things had up to that point. Heck, he was even thinking in the terminology used by open bis on campus.

Colt slithered his smooth hands down Kyle’s curly quadriceps.

Jason straightened Kyle’s heels along Colt’s defined shoulders.

Colt sped his outs from Kyle.

Jason quickened his ins into Colt.

“This butt fuckin’ sure beats shagging pussy,” Colt said. He turned back his dishy face. “Is that the best you can do?”

“You want more of my wiener?” Jason sputtered.

“You bet!” Colt said.

Jason humped harder than an angry hand reaching a hard-to-reach area with the tube of a vacuum cleaner.

“Not so hard!” Colt said.

“That’s what you get for turning half the team bi,” Jason groaned.

“I’m sorry,” Colt whined, pouting his lips mockingly. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Too late, faggot!”

Jason sped the bench squeaks.

Colt turned his squarish face back front.

Jason spanked Colt.

And Colt wailed, his slender physique swinging rump-to-head in an irregular wave.

“You have one hot butt, you know that?” Jason said.

“Catch my germs, swine!” Colt answered.

“Yeah?” Jason bucked his hips so hard that he nearly fell.

Colt whooped so scandalously that he stopped pistoning into Kyle.

“Maybe that’ll make you think twice before talking dirty to me,” Jason said.

Again, Colt started plowing Kyle’s rectum. “I lured half the team into gay sex,” Colt said. His tone feigned seriousness the way a high school student fakes respect toward a substitute teacher. “Please, Jason! Oh, “please!” Teach me the lesson I need to learn.”

“I’m gonna smack your rumps till they turn to tomatoes,” Jason said with the harshness of an iron grating. Slap on Colt’s right bun!

Colt grunted.

Slap on Colt’s left bun!

“Yeah! Give me discipline!”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

“Harder!”

“Fuckin’ whore-slut,” Jason said. “Just wait till Phil and I get you an earring to wear, like Wesley.”

“Make that “two” earrings,” Colt said.

“One for each ear, huh?”

“Of course,” Colt said. “I like girls, too.”

“So you like cock and pussy,” Jason spat.

“Mmm-hmm! Mmm-hmm!”

“Then, take my dick.” Whack! Whack! Whack!

Colt yawped.

Standing in a half circle, Wesley, Felipe, and Phil started to rub their pricks at the opposite end of the bench.

For Jason, the threesome’s circle jerk seemed vulgar. This was because the behavior came from largely quiet, well-mannered collegians. The silver relief of Mary on Wesley’s necklace, the beige beads of cedar around Felipe’s short neck, and the black-cross tattoo on the upper side of Phil’s left arm accentuated the fact that regular, decent guys were—at heart—pigs. This opened possibilities beyond Jason’s wildest imaginings—and infused him with excitement. The more Jason eyed the pink, brown, and pale trio, the more he couldn’t help but feel sexually stimulated by their monkey motions.

Colt pecked Kyle’s lips with a kiss.

Kyle pecked him back.

Colt and Kyle locked their youthful lips, and Colt’s head gyrated like cilia at the bottom of the ocean.

Jason had never seen anything like this. He pumped into Colt faster than the quickest meat beater, deeper than the lowest oil rig, and harder than the toughest pestle. “I’m getting close,” Jason said, squeezing Colt’s nates. “Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!”

“”I can’t hold it!”" Colt said. He twisted his back into a C.

Jason squirted into Colt’s scorching ass.

Colt tightened and relaxed his chute—over and over and over.

The liquid vibration of Colt emptying his balls into Kyle squeezed larger ropes of cum from Jason.

Grunts, moans, and howls filled the locker room like bats winging out of a cave. The smell of sex wafted everywhere with the speed of a spreading wildfire. And everyone’s bodies quaked like shaking palm trees.

What had become of the team? Jason pondered in his subconscious. Whatever the answer, he was grateful that science had eradicated the major STDs.

At last, Colt collapsed onto Kyle; Jason onto Colt; and Wesley, Felipe, and Phil onto the floor.

* * * *

Silence fell upon the locker room as though the place had been vacated.

The athletes, however, were resting on one another. The lecithin-like smell of cum throughout the room increased their stupor.

“Man,” Colt heaved.

The word shattered the peace like a pebble a crystalline lake.

Colt continued, “That was the best fuck I’ve “ever “had.”

“I never knew that gay sex could be such fun,” Felipe said from afar. “If my girlfriend ever participates in something like this, she’d die.”

“We gotta do this again sometime,” Colt resumed. “When is our next game away from home?”

“Next weekend,” Kyle sighed restfully.

“Dandy,” Colt said. “Just remember: not a word to our girlfriends about this.”

Both men gasped with pleasure. John, who was loving the feel of his love inside of him, and Harvey at the feel of being inside his love.

John then started moving himself up and down on Harvey’s cock getting a steady rhythm going. Both were back into kissing again, and teasing one another’s nipples as they made love. John leaned forward slightly so his own cock could rub against their bare chests. As they had only just climaxed half an hour before, neither were ready to cum again soon, so they just enjoyed the feel of one another. They fit so perfect together, and the love that was there could be seen as they stared into the other’s eyes.

After almost an hour of this slow love-making, Harvey could feel himself ready to climax again. He told John, and John automatically started to go faster with his movements. Harvey helped him and they both raced to cum together, with Harvey stroking John’s throbbing erection. Harvey felt his cum rising from his balls and to his cock. His breathing became heavier and his moaning became louder, together with John’s. “Oh baby I’m cumming…I love you.” Harvey shouted as he filled John with his seed.

“Me too baby…Oh God you feel so good…ohhh…mmm…ahhhhh…” John replied as his orgasm overflowed him for the third time that afternoon.

Once they had both recovered again, they both cleaned up, dressed and chatted some more. Harvey mentioned that he wanted to be the bottom on a regular basis, so John agreed and said it would be fun, as he liked it rough like that, and wouldn’t mind that more often also.

He eventually looked at the time, and noticed it was over three hours later. He said he would go home and wait for Harvey back there.

“You do know that you have put me behind three hours. I may have to stay a bit later.” Harvey complained.

John looked at him. “Oh baby no, please don’t stay too late, I was hoping for an early night.”

Harvey stared wide eyed. “You really don’t think I can manage that again? I’m worn out John.”

John laughed and agreed but challenged him. “Let’s just see how long it takes you to resist me once we get into bed. I know you love my ass babe, and it loves you back double.”

Harvey chuckled and gave John’s ass a slap with made him yelp. They kissed goodbye and John was just about to open the door when he thought of something.

“Shit, do you think anyone heard us Harvey?” John asked

“Who gives a fuck? They’ve heard us before…what’s new?” Harvey replied.

“Yeah true. but your little secretary hasn’t, this should be fun.” John laughed.

Harvey laughed with him, knowing what was going to happen. They kissed and hugged goodbye and John walked out of Harvey’s office, shutting the door behind him.

He smiled when he looked at the shocked face of Jane, Harvey’s secretary. She obviously heard a lot that went on in the room behind her, and didn’t expect it at all.

“You ok Miss?” John asked seriously. He tried to keep a straight face. “You seem a little, err..I think surprised is the word.”

“Errr…well…err…yess I think I am Sir. Alright I mean, not surprised that is.” She replied stunned.

It happened every time and John was used to it.

“Good. I was starting to worry a little for a moment.” He smiled at her, but she said nothing. “Before I go I wanted to make sure you enjoyed it, what you heard I mean.” No answer. He bent over a little, making his face a bit more serious. “Now, in future, be careful when talking on the phone, and be careful who you talk to in person. You never know when you may have the boss’s boyfriend stood in front of you ok?” John said sternly. Jane nodded open mouthed.

He loved teasing them, although he wasn’t happy about what she did.

He carried on when she sat there mouth wide open. “For that matter, you never know who could be standing near you, listening to your conversations with others. Harvey doesn’t like being talked about behind his back, especially by his secretary. He may pay very well, but it doesn’t give you any right to say those things about him. He has had one too many secretaries, so I know what I’m talking about. Do you understand, Miss Finch?”

“Errr yes Sir, sorry Sir, I promise it will never happen again Sir.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her. He pressed the button on the intercom, and waited for Harvey to answer. “Yes Jane? I’m busy, it better be important.”

“Hey baby, it’s only me, just thought I’d let you know that I have told your secretary to behave in future. Hell I don’t know why you pay so them well, they only want a piece of your ass, but I really don’t blame them…it’s very…” John paused and looked up at Jane. He grinned. “…fuckable.”

Harvey laughed out loud at John’s voice when he heard it over the intercom. ‘Why does he always have to tease them like this, no wonder they become unbearable after a month’ He thought to himself.

“John…baby leave her alone, it’s you that should behave, winding my secretary up like that.” He replied to John.

John laughed back, still looking at Jane, who was listening.

“You know, I can always give her an account of what it’s really like to be with you in bed. She seems to think that she can do wonders with you. Although I don’t think she has the right equipment.”

“John, I think that’s enough now.” Harvey replied, although not in a serious tone.

“Ok, I’m sorry. You can spank me later for being a naughty boy. Mmmmmm in fact I’m getting hard just thinking about it. Now I’m going, don’t be long, hurry home, I will be waiting for you…in bed.” John said.

He winked at Jane, who looked down at his crotch. Harvey laughed again.

“Ok…I can’t wait. Now go home. I have to finish up here first… love you.” Harvey replied.

“Geez she looked, hahaha, they fall for it every time. Ok love you too baby.” John replied just as Harvey opened his door.

He came out of his office, walked up to John and gave him a mouthwatering kiss. They both smiled afterwards.

“Now GO, before I take you back in there and ravish you again.” Harvey replied.

“Would that be so bad?” John asked batting his eyes.

Harvey growled and pushed him away laughing, then went back in his office.

John smiled at Jane, who still looked shocked but also a little bit embarrassed. He turned around and walked off out of the building smiling to himself, whilst Harvey smiled to himself in his office.