Sword and Sandal

by Roland Graeme

  As he drank his whiskey, Renzo lowered his eyes and focused them on my groin. I knew he could see the progress my stiffening cockshaft was making under the denim, protruding down the side of my thigh inside my pants leg.

  I clutched my paper cup in front of my chest in both of my hands as he came over to me and stood very close. He was breathing hard, and like me he was perspiring in the warm night air. I could feel his breath and I could smell the oil and sweat on his body.

  “I thought about you,” he repeated, barely audibly this time. “Is that all right?”

  “I guess so. Why wouldn’t it be all right? I guess a guy can’t always—you know—control his own thoughts.”

  I turned my body to one side, to avoid his gaze. Nervously, I raised the cup to my lips and gulped more whiskey.

  I heard him whisper, “Hey. Look at me.”

  I turned back around, and I was stunned to see that he had his fly open, and his cock and balls pulled out of his pants. He held them in his big, oily hand. His thick, calloused fingers caressed the dark pink flesh of his penis. Like me, he was uncircumcised. Like me, too, he was getting hard. Very hard.

  “Look at what I’ve got here for you, Gino,” he coaxed.

  I felt a strange heat surge through me, and I didn’t know how to react, or what to do.

  “You’d better put that motherfucker away,” I told him.

  “Why? Why should I? It feels good, to have it sticking out in the open. And you like looking at it, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t,” I protested. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Disgusting, huh? You are such a fucking liar.”

  “Put your dick back in your pants,” I pleaded.

  “I can think of better places to put it, and better things to do with it. Drop your pants,” Renzo demanded.

  It was a shocking request. But even more shocking, to me, was the fact that I obeyed him without thinking.

  If you were to ask me why I did it, I doubt that I could tell you, even with the benefit of hindsight. Maybe, for one thing, Renzo seemed to have some strange power of personality over me, so that I was willing to subordinate my own will to his. On the other hand, the explanation could be quite simple. Namely, I was young and horny, I secretly had the hots for him, and I was more than willing to be seduced.

  I stood there before him, also exposed, and I felt myself achieving a full erection, even though I hadn’t touched myself. The skin on my uncut penis pulled itself back taut, so that the round head emerged, swollen and flushed.

  “You’re going to do everything I tell you to, aren’t you?” Renzo asked. But the way he said it, it was more a statement of fact than a question.

  “I don’t know. Am I?”

  “Sure you are. Don’t make me take one of those fan belts and use it on your ass, boy.” It was ostensibly a threat, but there was a soft, caressing tone to his voice. I shivered—whether with fear or with anticipation, I didn’t know.

  He saw my passivity, and he interpreted it correctly as submissiveness. He reached down and he took my penis in his hand and stroked it, expertly.

  “Nice cock,” he breathed.

  “Oh, God,” I blurted out. I was sure we were committing a mortal sin together, and that we were headed straight for hell.

  “Do you like that? Do you like the way I’m doing it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He chuckled. “You are such a goddamn liar. You like it, all right. You like it a lot.” As he spoke, his hand moved faster, working my hard-on. “Yeah, you’re good and hard already, aren’t you, buddy?” he gloated.

  I couldn’t answer him, at least not with words. I didn’t have to, of course. My treacherous penis had already betrayed me, making my indecent desires only too apparent.

  Renzo released my dick. He grabbed me by my shoulders, firmly, and he turned me around. I found myself facing a row of identical motor oil cans lined up neatly on a shelf. I felt Renzo’s greasy left hand massaging my ass cheek. He leaned over my back and his hard cock pressed against the crack between my buttocks like a tire iron, hot and searing against my cool flesh. His right hand came up to my chest and felt under my shirt for my left nipple, which he rubbed and pinched. He bit the side of my neck, his teeth sinking into my flesh in a real love bite, making me gasp and shudder in response. Then I quite instinctively leaned my head back against his unshaven face, abandoning myself to his rough embrace.

  He put his lips next to my ear and whispered hoarsely, “Nice ass, buddy. You about ready to lose that cherry of yours?”

  “No!” I protested.

  “Shut up,” he growled. “Keep your voice down, will you? You want somebody to hear us?”

  The likelihood of anyone overhearing us was pretty remote. Even if a customer pulled up in front in his car, and he got out of it to investigate why no attendant seemed to be on duty, we’d be outside of his earshot. We’d have plenty of time to disengage ourselves from each other, and pull up and fasten our pants before he got suspicious at the delay. But there was something arousing about Renzo’s insistence upon silence and secrecy. He and I were sexual conspirators, performing an illicit act together. And at our place of employment, on company time—which somehow made what we were doing seem even more excitingly depraved.

  He bit my earlobe. “You want it, don’t you?” he demanded, still in that tense, raspy whisper.

  “Yeah,” I was shocked to hear myself reply. “Yeah, I want it.”

  “Not going to cry ‘rape,’ are you? Not going to yell for help?”

  “No. No, I promise. I swear I won’t.”

  “Damn right you won’t. I ought to know.”

  He became even more aggressive. I whimpered, “Yeah,” and “Oh, please,” when I felt his oily finger probe between my buttocks, slip through my sphincter ring, and work its way inside my ass. He explored the interior of my tight virgin anus with his fingertip, and I squeezed my sphincter shut around the invader in an instinctive gesture of resistance. But I really didn’t want to resist. I couldn’t believe how good it felt! And already, in that first moment of erotic daring, I knew that I wanted more. Much more!

  “Um, that’s a sweet, tight little cherry ass,” he whispered. “You’d be a big hit in the slammer. Those bastards would be fighting over you. Fighting each other, to see which of them was going to make you his bitch!”

  Talk about a backhanded compliment!

  “They’d pound your hole until it was stretched wide open, and then you’d be able to take it without any trouble, like a whore,” he said.

  And then he replaced his finger with his cock, slowly and carefully easing it into me. He bit and kissed my neck to distract me, and suddenly I realized that he was inside me. It hurt, but the pain was only a prelude to an intense, indescribable pleasure.

  “Open,” he whispered. “Open it up for me.”

  I forced myself to relax and take it, and he began to stroke, back and forth within me, with each new lunge working his shaft in deeper.

  All the while, he kept talking me through it, in a seductive, crooning tone of voice.

  “That’s right, buddy. Give it up. Let me have your hole. Back up onto my cock. Let yourself open up around it, get used to the way it feels in there. Take it … yeah, that’s right, take it … let me get in there, all the way in there. Oh, you’ve got such a sweet ass!”

  You have to keep in mind that all this happened back in what we now refer to as the “pre-condom era.” Back then, it would never have occurred to two men to use a rubber when they fucked. Prophylactics were for straight guys who didn’t want to get their wives or their girlfriends pregnant, or who were playing it safe while having sex with a (female) whore. When homosexual men enjoyed anal intercourse together, they invariably fucked raw.

  Renzo moved me out of the light, into the dark corner by the fan belts, and he slapped my ass cheek, hard, with his palm. It stung, and I flinched. But then, to my astonishment, I realized that the slight pain only increased my degree of
arousal, and that I liked it.

  He bent over me and pumped his cock into me. I felt the sweaty hair plastered on his thighs as he drew me up tightly against them, massaging first my balls, then my cock, and I smelled the dark oil as it transferred itself from his palm and greased my dick. I was getting fucked up the ass and jerked off simultaneously, and I liked it. Liked it? Hell, I loved it! I was ecstatic. I must be queer!

  I didn’t care if I was queer. The word no longer held any shame for me. I only cared about what Renzo was doing to me, and whatever it was, some instinct told me that he was doing it well. I bent lower, lifting my ass, resting my hands on my knees, and I braced myself to endure the assault.

  “Put it in me all the way,” I invited him. “Do it harder.”

  “Fucker,” Renzo gasped. “You hot-assed, horny little fucker, you!” He slapped my ass again, and I whimpered in response to the stinging impact. But I remained bent over, allowing him to take complete control of me.

  We were going at it fast and furiously now. He continued to jerk my cock with his oily hand, and he told me, breathlessly, “Looks like you had a birthday present to give me after all.”

  “Yeah,” I retorted. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it, buddy. I love fucking your ass!”

  “Do it harder,” I urged him, again. “As hard as you can.”

  “I’m not hurting you?”

  “No. It feels good. I like the way it feels. Come, on, do it harder, Renzo. Fuck me harder. Fuck me as hard as you can.”

  “Shit! Sounds like you’re glad you gave me your cherry.”

  “I guess so. I don’t want to be a virgin any longer. I want to get fucked. Hell, I want to do everything. Everything that two guys can do together. Come on, Renzo, show me. Show me what we can do. All those dirty things that guy did to you in the slammer—I want you to do them to me.”

  “Why, you nasty little whore!” But there was amusement, and even affection, in Renzo’s tone of voice.

  All this while, he went on screwing me, indefatigably. Every now and then, he’d slap my ass with his palm, hard, while he kept me bent over and he pumped his prick into me. I could feel that sweat-moistened hair on his thighs as he pulled me back tightly against him, and I could smell the dark oil as it smeared from his hand and greased my cock. Occasionally, he’d interrupt his jerking of my dick, to reach lower and massage my balls. Moaning with pleasure—a pleasure which was shameless and undisguised, now—I bent over even lower, lifting my ass and shoving it recklessly back against his groin. I braced myself with my hands on my knees. I settled in, and I enjoyed the ride.

  And enjoy it I did. It was my first fuck, and I exulted in every moment of it.

  “Hot fuck,” Renzo grunted, as he plowed my butt with his thick ramrod and jerked my cock with his oily hand. “You’re one hell of a hot fuck. I knew you’d be. Yeah, you stay just like that. Keep that pretty ass right where it is. Let me have that hole.”

  As though I were in any position to deny him the use of my body, now! Even had I wanted to, which I sure as hell didn’t!

  “Take it,” I invited him. “Fuck it, man. Fuck it!”

  He fucked me, all right. Long and hard! I don’t know for how long. Fueled by the alcohol we’d consumed, we went at it like a pair of humping dogs. We were both panting desperately for breath, and our bodies were hot and wet with sweat. Every time his prick plunged deep inside me, my asshole seemed to respond to the penetration with a fiercer degree of delight. I wouldn’t have complained had he fucked me like that all goddamn night!

  Finally, though, Renzo came in my ass. Wetly and thickly, filling my anus with his load of cum. I shot off, too, spraying my jism helplessly onto the garage’s cement floor.

  “Yeah,” Renzo gloated, as he continued to ejaculate inside me, and I went on blowing my own wad. “Happy birthday to me!”

  Chapter Two: My Workout Buddy

  In retrospect, I now realize that Renzo was one of the most influential people I’ve ever met.

  His influence on me had long-ranging effects, to put it mildly. He was my first lover, who relieved of my virginity and who helped me to understand and accept my homosexuality. Furthermore, it was Renzo who reinforced my already intense interest in weight training and bodybuilding.

  He’d learned how to pump iron while he was in prison, of course. Working out with weights was one of the few recreational activities the prisoners had available to them. It didn’t occur to the authorities, back in those days, that maybe it wasn’t so smart to allow convicted criminals to develop huge muscles, making them even more self-confident, intimidating, and capable of taking advantage of physically weaker individuals.

  After that first night in the garage, when he fucked me, Renzo and I became fast friends. We were practically inseparable.

  A few days later, he invited me to come over to his place, so we could “work out together” (as he put it). I wasn’t deceived. I knew that this was really an invitation to have sex with him again. Which was why I was very quick to accept the offer!

  Renzo slept in the basement of his parents’ house. That sounds grimmer than the reality actually was. Half of the basement had, at some point, been remodeled into a “rec room,” as we called such spaces back then. There was a tiled floor, there were dry walled and plastered walls which had been painted, and there was a dropped and tiled ceiling, complete with recessed overhead lighting fixtures. At the foot of the stairs which led down to the basement, a door opened onto the rec room. Renzo could close and lock this door, to ensure himself a considerable degree of privacy.

  The other half of the basement was unfinished, and it contained the usual: the furnace, the hot water heater, a work bench with tools, a washer and dryer, and assorted junk.

  Renzo’s family no longer used the rec room as such. And so it became his bedroom. Admittedly, it didn’t have any windows (or, more accurately, the small windows high up on the cement block walls, at the ground level of the house, were covered up by the dry wall), but it was warm and dry. He had a bed, a television set and a stereo system, a closet and chests of drawers in which to store his clothes and his other belongings—and he also plenty of floor space on which to set out his free weights, his benches, and his other workout equipment. Essentially, he was sleeping in his own private gym. In one corner of the room, he had a tiny bathroom, complete with a toilet, a sink, and shower, all crammed as an afterthought into the small space. (Using this bathroom required a certain amount of agility. If you weren’t careful and you moved too fast, you were likely to bump against one of the walls, or collide with the toilet or the sink.)

  Most importantly, Renzo also had privacy. No members of his family ever bothered to come down into the basement, except to do laundry. And sly Renzo usually kept them out of his way by volunteering to do the laundry for the whole family, himself.

  The first time I went to his place, we stripped down and worked out together. It was a good, hard workout. We didn’t spare ourselves, and we ended up hot, pumped up, and dripping wet with sweat.

  He’d already fucked me, after all. So there was no need for us to be modest in each other’s company. We’d worked out wearing nothing except our jockstraps. While we hit the weights, we were fully conscious of each other’s near-nudity. We both developed hard-ons, poking out against the elastic pouches of our athletic supporters. Neither of us saw any need to conceal his tumescence.

  “I need a shower,” I confessed, when we were done pumping the iron. “Mind if I take one?”

  “No. I’ve got soap, and plenty of spare towels. But wait. Hang on, Gino.”

  “Wait for what?” I asked.

  “Don’t be in such a goddam hurry.”

  “I’m not. But look at me. I’m sweating like a pig. I stink. So do you.”

  “Yeah. We’re both good and dirty. But before you shower—don’t you want to fool around a little?” he asked.

  “Do you?”

  “We might as well, since we’re going to have to
get cleaned up anyway.”

  “All right,” I replied—without hesitation; indeed, without even needing to think about it.

  “The other night in the garage—that was kind of wild, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. Now, belatedly, I was experiencing a twinge of shame. I pictured myself bent over, with my ass cheeks spread, taking Renzo’s cock up my ass like a male whore, and loving it.

  “It’s funny,” he muttered—in such a low tone of voice that he seemed to be speaking to himself, not to me.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  “What we did on my birthday. I mean, what we didn’t do. I must be slipping. I was so hot for your ass that we skipped the cocksucking.”

  “Did we?”

  “Of course we did. When two guys fool around with each other, they’re always supposed to suck each other’s dicks, before they move on to the fucking. But I went right for your ass. I fucked you, and I fucked you good. We never got around to sucking each other’s dicks.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t been aware that there was such a thing as a homosexual rule book, or an agenda which had to be followed, step by step!

  “We might as well make up for it, now. Come here and suck mine.”

  “I don’t know, Renzo.”

  “Huh? What don’t you know?”

  “If I want to.”

  “That’s a laugh. Who do you think you’re kidding? You want to, and we both know it.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “Maybe not. What I don’t know is whether I can go through with it.” I stared at the way his erection was distending the pouch of his jockstrap, expanding the elastic material to its bursting point. His cockhead had in fact poked itself free from the waistband, or rather the hip band, of the athletic supporter, and that wide strip of rubberized material was holding his hard-on firmly against his stomach. “You’re hung so big … I don’t see how I can get all of that inside my mouth. What if I choke on it?”