Visible Lives

by Stanley Bennett Clay

  “Please,” I insisted, leading him into the bathroom, providing him with soap and towels, and shutting the door gently behind him. My God, you would have thought I was on my honeymoon.

  I then stripped down to my boxers and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to control my hard-on as the sound of the water running in the shower sent my imagination soaring with visions of water streaming down his lithesome body, and him luxuriating in the baptism, soaping then rinsing the soft hairs of his underarms, arms, chest, legs, ass rim, and pubes.

  And the thought of his dick sent me throbbing; him soaping the wrinkled balls and veiny shaft, pulling the delicate loose foreskin back, a sensation that infant circumcision deprived me of, soaping the lovely dick head, the rim, the stretched-back foreskin, the thick shaft, rinsing himself, all of himself, preparing himself for me.

  The fantasies had enslaved me. My boxers were now around my ankles and my rock-hard manhood dripped with pre-cum. I grabbed hold of it, trying my best to calm the beast that throbbed in my hand with a mind of its own.

  Then suddenly the shower stopped. I waited with a shortness of breath, waited for my prize to appear, a wait that seemed a lifetime.

  Finally, the bathroom door opened, slowly. Davide stepped into the candlelit room, still the shy vision, a towel wrapped round his tiny waist. He was a delicate vision; modest pecs, midnight nipples, whisper chest hairs, the perfectly indented navel, the angel face looking almost too young to be legal. He eased toward me with the awkwardness of the schoolboy he seemed to be. I sat up and subtly kicked off my boxers, unashamed of the throbbing salute my dick was offering. He stood between my legs and slowly undid the towel and allowed it to drop to the floor.

  Pretty. There was no other word to describe it. Pretty. As pretty as his face, his feet, his legs, his chest, his tiny little smile. His dick was as pretty as I had imagined it. In its flaccid state, with only a hint of the head visible beneath the wrinkled opening of his foreskin, it was a thing of beauty.

  I kissed it. It pulsed like a newborn. I gently cupped his balls in one hand and cradled his lovely piece of meat in the other. I looked up into his beautiful dark eyes and felt him growing in the warmth of my delicate grasp.

  I slowly released his dick and his balls and wrapped my hands around the small bubble-butt of an ass. And as my fingers discovered the soft hairs that lined his crack, his dick reached out to me, throbbing.

  I kissed it again, over and over and over again, like a long-lost lover, and then I held it again and slowly retracted the foreskin and beheld the beauty of the sparkling, naked head.

  I could not hold back any longer. I wrapped my lips around it, filled my mouth with it, all of it, and gave it slow and gentle suckling.

  The taste of him was a humbling delight and I wondered what had I done to reap such pleasure. I stayed there forever and yet not long enough, feasting between his legs, filling my hands with his small hips, slowly jamming him into my hungry face.

  His moans became halting whimpers, and I knew he was close. He knew he was close, and with a shiver he pulled himself out of my mouth. I felt like a baby deprived its bottle.

  His dick bobbed up and down, having been brought so close and still not completely there. Not yet.

  He then knelt down between my legs. His small hands found the firmness of my calves and his mouth found my stiffened dick, and slowly took it in, all eight inches of it. I gasped, and some strange sound of unimaginable pleasure escaped from me. He sucked with a rhythm that fired up near intolerable ecstasy, and everything within me begged for it and begged it off.

  I held his bobbing head, ran my fingers through his midnight locks while I strained to hold on to my sanity in the face of maddening pleasure.

  I could not take it any longer. I was too close to exploding. I pulled his face back, his mouth back, his tongue back, away from my crazed penis, slapping itself against my stomach, begging for the mouth I now deprived it.

  Davide looked up at me slightly embarrassed, yet modestly pleased at giving me such oral pleasure. I looked down at him, smiling, shaking my head in amazement. My approval put a smile on his face.

  I took both his hands and lifted him up from between my knees. I stood, facing him, our hardened dicks met and mingled as we held each other. I kissed him on the lips. He kissed me back; our tongues found warmth in each other’s mouths. The crazy thought of falling in love with Davide flashed in my crazy mind, but practicality and reality did, alas, prevail.

  I then guided him onto the bed; laid him there face down. I stared down at him. His body was perfect, his slightly hairy ass, so beautiful. I touched it, then gently ran my fingers over the soft hairs on each lovely mound, then between them, where my shivering fingers found the hairy crack and savored the moisture. I knelt down between his slightly spread legs and kissed the moistened crack, then kissed the balls and dick stretched stiffly down his leg beneath him.

  The desire was overwhelming. Never before had I anticipated entering anyone more. I wanted desperately to be inside of him, to be inside that beautiful ass of his, to feel his walls consuming me, swallowing me.

  I reached for one of the condoms on the nightstand, tore open the packet with my teeth, removed it with dexterous fingers, and rolled it down my stiff shaft.

  He lay there in submissive stillness as I moistened the tiny pucker of his ass with lube. Only when my jelled finger penetrated the pucker, ever so slightly, did he flinch.

  There was no doubt about it. He was very tight, perhaps even a virgin. I would have to take my time; be very gentle. And so as I crawled up behind him, applied an extra glob of lube on my latex-covered member, I approached his beautiful hole like the precious jewel that it was.

  My dick gently touched his tight opening. Slowly, very slowly, I proceeded to enter him with the very tip of my dick head, hoping that the slow delicateness would cajole his tight ass into giving a little, allowing the muscles to relax. Instead, he stiffened in pain. Though barely in, I pulled out immediately.

  I massaged his throbbing pucker, and it seemed to bring some small relief.

  Again, I tried to enter him, even slower than before, and managed to bury half of my head inside of him, but this did not come without a price. His agonized squeal frightened me, and the head of my dick felt unpleasantly choked by the severe tightness that had no physical way to accommodate my desire. Still, I tried once again, and the involuntary pain I inflicted on this poor child without as much of an inch of penetration was sheer torture for us both.

  “Por favor,” he cried, pushing my body away from his agony. “Por favor, señor.”

  I was not some savage sex fiend, tearing into some poor boy’s booty-hole just to get my nut without thoughts of and/or consideration for him. Or was I?

  Besides, I’m only eight inches. Not a mere morsel for sure, but certainly no one’s prize-winning county fair cucumber.

  Suddenly, Sean’s asshole flashed into my memory. Sean loved getting fucked by me, and obviously loved getting fucked by Brad Pitt’s stand-in.

  Davide did not love, did not even like, getting fucked. And as much as he tried, I could get no satisfaction in bringing him so much pain.

  “Davide,” I said as he continued to whimper, unable to look at me. “Davide.”

  I crawled up beside him, lying so innocently violated, and took his face into my hand. I wiped away his tears, and looked him in the eye.

  “¿Ninguna problema, bueno?” He could not answer, and tried to look away again, but I would not let him. “¿Bueno?” I said again. “Understand?”

  Sniffling, he finally nodded his head. He then got up and went into the bathroom. The shower water ran again, not as long this time, or perhaps longer than I thought, as I was anxious to rush the miserable thoughts out of my head, and hoped that he, Davide, would somehow realize that maybe this is not the job for him.

  When he finally came out of the bathroom, he was fully dressed. Without looking up at me, he started toward the door.

  �
��Davide,” I called after him, “wait.” He turned back to me, still shackled by a shame he did not need to feel.

  I grabbed my pants and reached inside the pocket. I retrieved a twenty-dollar bill. I tried to hand it to him. He held his hand up in protest.

  “No, señor,” he begged, “I do nothing.”

  “No, Davide,” I said. “I want you to have this.”

  “Please, señor,” he insisted.

  “Here,” I insisted, and stuffed it in his pocket.

  He lowered his head and almost started to cry again. Then he slowly looked up and once again our eyes met.

  “Gracias, señor,” he said. “Esto será bueno para mi mujer y mi bebé.”

  Good for his wife and his baby? It hit me so hard that I barely noticed him leaving. I quietly closed the door behind him.

  Wow. What the hell was I doing? Granted, my dick is my dick but my dick has a conscience. Or maybe I’m really just that dork in Francesca’s phone photo taken at the family get-together.

  “So how was he?” Cedric asked when I finally reappeared in the parlor, newly showered, emotionally sober.

  “Very nice,” I said, “Very nice indeed.”

  “And how was the sex? Did you get everything that you asked for?”

  “That and more,” I lied. But did I? No, I didn’t lie. When Davide said Thank you. It will be good for my wife and baby, I felt human again. What more could one ask?

  “Good,” Cedric said, interrupting my thoughts. “Davide is one of my newest. You are his first here at House of John. What a little angel he is. I hoped that his performance would be as pleasing as his appearance. I am so glad that it was.”

  “Totally, Cedric. Totally.”

  I truly believed that Davide would never be back at House of John again.

  Chapter Six

  It was two o’clock in the morning. I lay wide-awake in my bed staring up at that damn lazy Casablanca fan thinking about my first night in Santo Domingo and House of John, still thinking about my encounter with Davide. What a helluva way to start off a vacation.

  Just a few hours ago, House of John was brimming with beautiful men for me to choose from, and here I was lying up in this strange bed, in this rented room, whacking off like a pimpled teenager. I don’t know. I guess the thought of trying to cram my dick up Davide’s unrelenting ass temporarily took me out of the mood, but now that my horniness had returned full throttle, all the bugarrones were either gone for the night or hooked-up with somebody else.

  I finally fell asleep on my cum-stained towel around three. Six hours later I was awakened by Carlos’s knock on the door and the announcement of breakfast in a half hour on the dining terrace.

  I showered and dressed quickly; anxious to be tortured by my fellow travelers’ tales of sexual exploits, enviously sure they all fared better than I.

  When I stepped out onto the palm-shaded terrace, they were all there, and then some. By the bright salutations, varied grins, dreamy eyes, hearty appetites, and extra guests, it appeared they had all fared very well, dammit. I tried to put on my best game face, headed for the buffet table and filled my plate with enough salted cod fish, scrambled eggs with cilantro, topped with sautéed onions, something called mangu, mashed plantains, boiled cassava, and deep-fried Dominican cheese to hopefully make them think that my previous night’s activities were invigorating enough to make me famished, too. I then swaggered over to the empty seat next to Sylvester Winfrey, hoping that the swagger wasn’t overkill. When I sat, he gave me the high-five.

  “All right, dude,” he said admiringly.

  “What can I say?” I smirked, sucking on an imaginary toothpick. I set my plate down in front of me and attacked it with cool elegance. On my right sat a stunning local who, by the under-the-table foot play I casually peeped, was Jarvis McCready’s sleepover trade.

  Doctor Mo, facing me, had obviously found Tomás, seated next to him and chowing down like an athlete in training, to his liking. How could any of us forget Tomás, the thick battering ram rough trade with the unnatural bulge between his legs, one of the first three we were introduced to last night? It was no secret that the good doctor was a devout bottom. In fact, his strictly dickly status was legendary. I suspected that Doctor Bottom and the big dick battering ram made the perfect match.

  As breakfast progressed, kiss-and-tell stories abounded. Most of my colleagues had turned a trick or two, others like Art and the Hicks twins had gotten worn out after a single encounter, while Doctor Mo, Henry Anderson, and Oliver Bevins were so impressed with their bugarrones that they became full-fledge sponsoring johns, offering lavish fees for full night, multiple day and/or full three-week exclusivity; vacation boyfriends, if you will.

  Doctor Mo became the envy of hungry bottoms like Tim Thompson, Art Pierce, and Martin Carl, who had waited in line for a piece of the Tomás action, only to be informed that the show was now sold out.

  Talk of what the coming night might hold was as delicious as the food laid out before us.

  “Will Efraín be back tonight?” Myron Hicks asked. “I really liked him. I wouldn’t mind some of that again.”

  “He is quite nice, isn’t he?” Cedric said, smiling with sweet memories of his own. “And Rodrigo will be back too.”

  “Oh hot!” Sylvester squealed. “I had my eye on that, but Father Martin got to him first.”

  “Age before beauty, chile,” Martin crooned.

  “You mean bucks for the fuck,” Sylvester snapped good-naturedly.

  “Money do talk,” Martin snapped back.

  “And I bet you talked big time, didn’t you?”

  “You saw what that boy looked like. I paid him what he was worth. And then after he sexed me down, I tipped his phine ass double.”

  “So the sex is as good as it looks?”

  “Is a Bentley as good as it cost?”

  Everybody fell out in a howling laughter, except for the bugarrones, unable to understand much English.

  “Well now if it’s that good, maybe I should try some of that,” Byron Hicks chimed in.

  “Wait yo’ turn, bitch!” Sylvester declared, standing with both hands on his hips, sending the table into convulsions.

  “Now, now, gentlemen. No need to fret,” Will refereed with ease. “If you thought last night was something, wait until tonight. Trust me, Cedric has promised plenty of lovelies to go around, all with exceptional skills.”

  You would have thought Will had just announced recess to a bunch of fourth graders.

  I must confess I was just as excited about the prospects of the coming night, even though when Will said “all with exceptional skills” I couldn’t help but think of Davide.

  Think positive, I said to myself. I needed to realize that, vacation-wise, this was just the beginning, not the end. All I had to do was look around the table at all the smiling, laughing faces and satisfied customers, and realize that the best was yet to come. I vowed to begin Jesse Lee Templeton III’s sexual odyssey in earnest that very night. Equipped with my modest but eager eight inches, I was now fully prepared to indulge in the recreation I had wet-dreamed about. Three weeks of seriously fucking my brains out!

  Chapter Seven

  The next night couldn’t come fast enough. And I was not about to make the same mistake I had made the night before. I realized that something inside of me had chosen Davide for his romantic qualities more than his blatant sexual appeal. Well, I wasn’t down here for romance. I was down here for sex. And that’s exactly what I was going to go for.

  I ditched the candles, rejected the idea of smooth background jazz, and kept the doors leading out to my balcony open all day to fumigate the scented sissy shit that still lingered.

  That night, I descended the staircase into the foyer with a new determination and a bit of the swagger I had tried out at breakfast. I made an entrance into the buzzing parlor, surveyed it, spotted my target and made my approach. In no time at all I made a thirty-dollar connection with Rafael, whose body, and the languag
e he spoke with it, promised great sexual satisfaction, and it was not a promise unfulfilled. We had the kind of knock-down-drag-out sex that one usually sees between porno professionals. Well, that’s exactly what was going on. He was a professional bugarrón and I was a professional john, and what we did to each other was nothing less than pornographic. We fucked like yard dogs and sweated like pigs. By the time we had both cum, simultaneously I might add, we were huffing and puffing like boxers after eight rounds.

  But it didn’t stop us from having one more go at it. Again we fucked, sucked, ate, and spanked each other against the wall, on the floor, in the shower, over the sink, out on the balcony, and straddled in the doorway of the closet, which was draped by a curtain of multi-colored fiesta beads. Feet strained for the ceiling as we took turns banging each other on the bed, sending the springs of the mattress wailing in rhythm. We both gave as good as we got sideways, doggy-style, harness-style, every style.

  When we finished, I paid Rafael double. We saluted each other as equal champs, and promised to get together a few more times before my vacation was up.

  Now I had the hang of it, and I was ready to use those lusty skills re-awakened by Rafael on some of his hot Dominican brothers.

  Each night after that I brought a different, phiner piece of island trade to my room and did not finish with him until he gave me at least what Rafael had, in spades.

  But every once in a while, in between pumping or getting pumped by some beautiful young local, sixty-nining with greed, imitating Brad Pitt’s stand-in fucking my ex on a damask-covered settee, snapping pictures of one gifted bugarrón flexible and hung enough to give himself a blow job, Davide would cross my mind, and what he had subjected himself to in order to feed his family.

  But was he any different from any of the others? Was he any different from Rafael, or Hector, or Miguel, or Hermes? Like Oprah said, everybody has a story. And like I always say, we all do what we have to do to get what we have to get. In that sense I suppose we’re all whores in one way or another.