Author: Familiar-Read-3041

“Rickie and the Bull”

The place was an old Victorian flat in the heart of the French Quarter. Dark oak walls and ceilings, with expensive furnishings all around. This was a big change from the living environment Rickie was accustomed to. He’d slept outdoors with his group of gutter-punk friends the night prior.

Naked, Rickie stepped into a library off the main hallway. Across the large room, stood an eighteen-by-eighteen foot wall full of shelved books. From top to bottom, stood a rolling ladder on wheels. Two comfortable chairs, with a table, sat on a round expensive throw-rug in the middle of the room. A single small lamp, tassels hanging from the lampshade, dimly lit the library.

On the table, Rickie noticed a square crystal carafe, with a large ball corking the top. Inside the vessel, was what he assumed to be brown liqueur. He went over, hands shaking – pulled the cork loose and turned the square bottle up. After two large gulps, Rickie returned the cork. As he set the carafe back down, his head shook his head violently at the assault from the bourbon. Read more »

“His Smoky Dreams Return”

Vance invited Latisha over to his place on the coast, just south of Miami. He thought, after five years since they split, it would be nice to get together again. Catch up. The breakup was hard on him, and he honestly thought he’d never see her again – that is until he walked into Pony’s Gentleman’s Club in Fort Lauderdale last Tuesday.

Latisha was beautiful in every way. Even more so, now. She was short and thin, with perky breasts. Soft cocoa skin and the thin black braids which fell on the small of her narrow back, made her a catch for any man. She had the most beautiful smile, framed by perfect lips. She was exotic. Vance once remarked that she reminded him of Cleopatra. Her eyes were an amazing hazel-bronze. They always looked content and misty.

When they first met five years back, Latisha hadn’t known of Vance’s smoking fetish. They split after two years together without her ever knowing. At that time, before Vance met her, he’d seen her smoking in a local bar. Read more »

“Brock-turnal Emission”

His eyes opened halfway through a dozen involuntary jets of hot jism leaving his fuckstick.. This time, the orgasm was so strong, Brock felt an easy pain from his tailbone, forward to the seam running down the middle of his scrotum. His eyes were then suddenly forced back shut again by a pleasure-pulse which lasted for what seemed like minutes. He wanted to open his eyes. This orgasm he’d met by chance would not allow for it.

A few hours earlier, Brock had been photographing his own asshole for his latest social media post on Rumbly. Most nights, he wore boxers to bed, but due to his hot-yoga session earlier, and the longer-than-expected anal photo shoot – he slipped into the covers naked.

Now soaked in cooze, and leaning up on one elbow, he pulled the covers back. By the light of a salt lamp, a light coming through the open door to his bedroom, Brock observed fresh semen, not only spread across his stomach, but somehow on both thighs also. Still breathing heavily, he could only summarize he had been in the throes of a nocturnal emmision – one which started rather violently. Read more »

“Smoke and Ambrosia”

Presented with a beautiful day, Lana thought of walking to the beach. Sitting at the small breakfast table her roommate Nick bought at a garage sale last Wednesday, she took a final pull on the short of her cigarette, and then gently touched it to another.

Lana always had a very feminine way of smoking, even when she lived as a man. Now, Lana’s full lips, shiny with gloss, wrapped around the cork in a way that was unmistakably ladylike. Each long drag from the cigarette, as she was sitting at the table that morning, had her fantasizing about being in a grand hotel bar, living as a high-dollar prostitute. Through the years, she’d daydreamed over and over – about a strong man showing up in that lobby – to take her away.

Lana grew up in a small North Dakota town. Population: six hundred.

When Lana was a young Leonard T. Pinch, her father gave her the name chi-chi because she was so beautiful. Why would a father give his son such a nickname, if not for the fact that his father could see a daughter inside his son? Gerald Pinch, although a rugged man himself, didn’t impose masculinity on his son. Read more »

“Patton’s Drive”

After splitting with Tracy, Patton found a rental deal with five people he managed at the Rip’s Billiard Room & Bar in Pasadena. This rental was a mansion at the top of the hills in East Los Angeles. Two female bartenders, a waitress, a chef, and his best bouncer – shared the main house.

Patton rented the basement servant’s quarters. It was a large, basic apartment with everything he would need. Full kitchen, full bath, and a separate bedroom – a bedroom with closet that smelled of mildew. Damned thing seeped every time it rained.

“Good thing I’m in L.A.” If I lived in Seattle, I’d have to buy a fucking canoe.” he told his best friend Charlie.

Patton was a beautiful specimen. Twenty-five and striking. Soft blue eyes framed by high cheek bones, a square jaw, and a thick head of hair which was black as night. Six foot tall, one seventy – he projected innocence and strength all at once. Read more »

“Shave and a Story”

Sammy spread his young legs. He found himself face up on the twin bed of a small monthly-rental hotel room in downtown Asheville. On the bed, at his waist, sat a sixty-ish thin effeminate man with a bowl of warm soapy water and a razor.

Sammy had seen this older queen around town – walking the streets with a feather boa and purple Chuck Taylors. He was stopping to talk to just about everybody. Though he floated down the street like a butterfly touching flowers, nothing about him said drugs or mental illness.

Now Sammy was alone with him, naked from the waist down, in a ten-by-twelve foot room on the third floor of the hotel. They’d officially met an hour ago, at a drum circle. He asked if young Sammy would join him at his room for lunch.

It was sunny outside, just after noon. The bed took up most of the room and was pushed up against the only window. No curtain or shade adorned the window. Like the twink’s cock, the window was naked.

Sammy was perched up on a pillow, and through the window, he could see the action and hear the sounds of the city below. The sunshine lit up the room completely, and cut a line across Sammy’s smooth midriff. Read more »