When I knew I had Calvin ready to do anything for release, I made my mouth a hot wet cave for his cock. I sucked his cockhead, attacking the rim furiously with my lips, letting it swell my cheek and occasionally fill my throat.
So great was our need that our group blow job lasted fewer than five minutes. I could feel Calvin’s muscles contracting as the waves of orgasm rolled over him, followed by uncontrollable spasms. At the same time, the powerful muscles at the base of my cock contracted and sent a spurt of cum into Merrill’s mouth. Calvin’s wild contractions blasted big squirts that filled my mouth, and I had to gulp them down or lose them. He was coming so heavily that some jism was running freely down my chin though I swallowed as fast as I could.
My cock continued to squirt. I was filling Merrill’s mouth as much as Calvin was unloading in mine. At length, we stopped erupting, but we did not pull apart until everyone’s dick had calmed. We gently skimmed our friends’ cocks clean with our lips before we pulled our faces away and, drained and filled, we sprawled naked on the floor.
A warm, good feeling washed over me. I saw that the other guys were looking at me expectantly. “Hey, Boy Wonder,” Calvin finally said. “You have cum on your face.”
I grinned, not attempting to wipe my face before spilling my big secret: “I enlisted in the navy,” I admitted. “I leave in two days.”
Wednesday Night, October 31, 1945—Halloween
The tires were gone from my old Schwinn Aerocycle; doubtless, the rubber had been recycled into the war effort. I walked up the ridge, limping only slightly, not nearly as badly as I had hobbled across the deck of the carrier to meet General Douglas MacArthur.
As I gimped up the road, I saw costumed children running door-to-door shouting “Trick or treat.” As had my friends and I, the kids fearfully scurried past the sinister Sizemore mansion. I felt hideously old, though I was not quite twenty-two. I reached Going Wood and found the path. The way in was wilder than I remembered, but I found the clubhouse. It was undisturbed, exactly as I remembered it. I called out, but I was the first arrival.
The inside of the cabin had been swept at intervals. The walls were the same except for the addition of that picture clipped from Life Magazine. I winced to see it. My leg hurt worse just from the thought of what I’d done. Turning my mind from the Life photo article, I began examining our comics collection. They were all there, just as they had been, every Batman story. What is more, someone had kept the collection up to date. Every issue was there up to the most recent ones.
Then I heard footsteps outside our clubhouse. “What’s the password?” I called.
“Dick Grayson,” Maynard whispered. I recognized his voice, though it had matured. It had a more sophisticated, man-of-the-world tone.
“Boy Wonder,” I responded, and Maynard entered. Calvin, Oliver and Merrill followed hard on his heels.
“The conquering hero,” Calvin said, pointing at me. “Uh, but there’s a problem.”
“Huh?” I said.
“You’re violating the rules.” He pointed toward my pants.
“Are we still kids?” I asked, but I sat down in a chair and started removing my shoes and socks. The other guys were stripping to their underwear as well. I unfastened my pants and let them drop as I rose. Then I pulled them over my feet.
Surreptitious glances took in the scars on my leg where the bone had ripped through the skin and the ugly patches where the burning gasoline had splattered me.
“It’s been a long time,” Merrill said.
“Not that long,” Calvin corrected. “Let’s go all out, boys.” He patted Maynard’s ass.
“Uh, Calvin, I like it when you do that,” Maynard purred. “Do you want to shaft me?”
“Yeah,” Calvin surrendered. “How about I give it to you while Archie fucks me?”
“Sure,” I said, eager to change the subject from my war experiences. “We’ll play choo-choo.”
We dropped to our knees. Without my asking, Merrill assisted me down on my bum leg. Maynard squirmed to the front of our train and stuck out his butt doggie-style. After dipping into the Vaseline, Calvin mounted Maynard, pushed in his dick partway, and projected his rear for me. As I received the jar of petroleum jelly, my cock bumped Calvin’s butt. Merrill positioned himself directly behind me. I passed back the jar.
“I gotta be the caboose?” Oliver griped, but his dick arced into Merrill’s crack.
“Push, Archie,” Calvin urged. “Push your cock into my ass.”
I drove my hips forward. My leg stopped hurting as my cock slid into Calvin’s rectum. His asshole opened easily. I lurched forward until I had driven my cock to the hilt in Calvin’s ass. My loins pressed against his round buttocks. Calvin sucked in a long breath as I filled him. He released the air with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, Archie, your big cock is in me.”
Merrill’s cock was opening my asshole. When I pushed my hips back, I felt a tremendous pressure in my ass. I humped forward into Calvin and then humped back to impale my asshole on Merrill’s cock. I felt the familiar fullness and the delicious sensation in my asshole.
“Does this hurt your leg, Archie?” Merrill asked.
“No,” I said. “Do me like Batman screws the Boy Wonder.” Merrill’s cockhead hit my prostate and sent shivers of pleasure through me. He pulled back, impaling himself on Oliver’s dick. Then he rocked forward, humping me just as my ass was getting into a regular rhythm of fucking Calvin. I rocked back to thrust again. Merrill’s cock bored deep until his loins slammed against my asscheeks. As we developed a rhythm, the sensation became wildly rewarding.
Merrill pulled back, paused for an eternity of sexual shock, and plunged forward. The stroke sunk deep. My dick throbbed with an ecstasy of tingles. I thought it would burst in Calvin’s ass as I reared back to meet Merrill’s lunges. We plunged faster back and forth, and I tightened my asshole around Merrill’s cock to milk him off, even as Calvin’s asshole gripped my tormented dick.
“Oh, Merrill,” I moaned. Merrill’s dick was massaging my prostate at the same time Calvin’s asshole was stroking my dick.
My cock stiffened even harder in Calvin’s asshole. As Merrill’s bucking dick fucked my ass, ripples of intense pleasure coursed through me. I worked Merrill’s dick with my derrière. Oliver fucked Merrill’s ass as unrelentingly as Merrill fucked me.
“That’s so good,” Oliver chanted, his voice rising to a roar. “My cock is sizzling.”
“Oh, Archie, I love banging your buttcheeks,” Merrill gasped.
Calvin’s big cock was pulling in and out of Maynard’s pleasure hole, each thrust sending shivers of ecstasy up his ass. Maynard howled with rising tones of rapture. “Ah, it’s getting good, Calvin. It’s getting really good.”
“Yeah, Oliver,” Merrill shouted. “Come in my ass.”
My dick was tingling and bucking, heavy with rising semen. “I’m gonna blow spunk into you, Calvin.”
Oliver bellowed mindlessly. “Oh, it’s so good, Merrill. Your ass is making me come. I’m going to shoot wads.”
“Shoot me full, Oliver,” Merrill kept yelling, banging me harder as he received his load.
I squeezed Merrill’s cock as hard as I could. I worked him with my asshole until he was screaming and thrusting like a maniac. An agony of pleasure rippled through my cock’s head, made more delicious by the pounding fullness in my ass.
“Don’t slow down, boys” I shouted, not knowing to whom I spoke. “This is it. I’m going to squirt.”
“Ah!” Calvin shrieked. “Oh, I’m coming so heavy!”
My cock started erupting, and bursts of jism spurted. “Oh, yeah, Calvin. That’s good,” I wailed as the ultimate drops oozed from my tortured cock.
We collapsed in a heap, gasping. Our hearts thundered as we undulated over slippery bodies, washing each other carefully with soap and water. However, we did not play long for we had unfinished business. The night would not be complete until Maynard had fucked Oliver’s ass.
Oliver stretched out on
his back and pulled up his legs, his asshole open for our inspection.
“Pass the Vaseline, Calvin,” Maynard urged. He applied the petroleum jelly to Oliver’s hole and carefully pushed it in. Oliver grunted with pleasure.
We watched with glee as Maynard crawled aboard Oliver’s body and positioned his cockhead against Oliver’s ready asshole. Oliver panted as Maynard entered him.
Watching Oliver get bat-fucked in the ass was fun. As I sat with a sorely milked dick and an asshole stretched from the pounding I’d taken, I watched Maynard’s big bottom hammering his cock in Oliver’s horny hole. I rubbed my sore cock. I was temporarily out of semen, but I still jacked my cock as I watched my friends fucking.
Maynard fucked Oliver madly. The rest of us smiled at Maynard’s pumping buttocks and rubbed our tingling cocks. As his butt rose and thrust, Maynard’s face was a mask of happy agony as his dick went off in Oliver’s ass.
“Ah, I’m coming, Oliver,” Maynard yelled. “I’m spouting in your ass, Boy Wonder.”
Without warning, I erupted into orgasm. Since I had nothing left to shoot, the spasms came hard and dry, but they were no less pleasing.
“Archie got off again,” Calvin shouted. “Archie is the Boy Wonder of the night.”
Later we ate sandwiches and drank soda pop. Calvin and Maynard had trick-or-treated some candy, so we ate that too while the fellows talked about their war experiences.
“Oliver and I spent the war in Detroit,” Merrill said. “What we did was important. We were running the North American Net. We were the heart of the Signal Corps.”
“What Calvin and I did was important too,” Maynard said. He wasn’t trying to boast. The shadow of that horrible photo article in Life virtually hung over the room. “Maybe we never got out of Washington, but we had lunch with Roosevelt. We transmitted orders to Eisenhower.”
“I didn’t do anything of great importance,” I said. “I was pretty safe on the ship. Warm food and dry clothes. Not like the guys slogging through the jungle with bullets ripping chunks out of them. Or the guys in France and Germany with frostbitten feet.”
“Yeah, you had it made, Archie,” Oliver said. Then his voice turned somber. “Until November 5, 1944.” He pointed toward the article from Life. “We read about it. We were proud of you, Archie.”
“What battles were you in?” Calvin asked.
“Please, guys,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’re your best friends. More than that. Think about what we just did. You have my cum in your ass.”
“I had Bill Jefferson’s semen in my ass when I pulled him out of the fire,” I admitted.
“You saw a lot of action?”
“Oh, yeah. All those lonely, sex-starved boys on the Lexington II. We had a shipboard suck and fuck fest.”
“There was the Battle of the Philippine Sea,” Calvin said. “You were in that?”
“Yeah. I was in that one. Also the Battle of the Sea of Sibuyan and the Battle of Cape Engano when we sunk the Chitose, Zuikaku and Zuiho.”
“But it was in the Philippines where the kamikaze got you. You pulled three men out of the fire. You ran through burning aviation fuel on a broken leg.”
“General MacArthur pinned a medal on me for that,” I said. “I was only rescuing guys I’d fucked. And sucked. I must’ve been nuts.”
“Yeah, you’re crazy,” Calvin said. He pushed his face close to mine and kissed my lips as if he meant it. And his lips told me that he did mean it. Then Maynard kissed me. And Oliver. And finally Merrill. As our lips pressed, I knew that we were still outsiders; deviants, perhaps. But we were comrades for life—just like Batman, and Robin, the gay Boy Wonder.
BRYCE CANYON
Eric K. Anderson
It feels dangerous and forbidden. My heart thumps hard in my chest, slamming against my rib cage. I’m on my knees beneath him, his hand on the back of my head, pushing me closer and closer. I resist, but he is confident and assertive. The adrenaline rush makes me feel light-headed. My knees grate against the cold, dirty concrete floor of the warehouse. At any moment, a supervisor could wander in though we are in the thick of the early morning hours, the lonely night-shift slog that has such a high turnover of guys quitting unexpectedly. “Yeah, get in there,” he demands, knowing what I want better than I know it myself; intuitively sensing my desire and using me to satiate his needs. His large muscular brown ass is in front of my face, cheeks spread to reveal the pink slit of an opening. His head is turned back staring down at me with intense, deepest brown eyes. This encounter wasn’t expected. This wasn’t the sanitary, decent sex I was used to. This wasn’t my boyfriend.
Darnel was a law student, a nice guy, everyone’s friend and the kind of man my mother would like me to settle down with. We’d met at one of the city’s two gay bars. I went there one evening though I had already had a few disappointing visits since moving to this city. There’d be friendly chats, playing pool and then the inevitable invitation for sex from guys who were curious what it’d be like to do it with a black man. This ticked me off. Most of the white guys in this city saw me as a conquest, an exotic object. But this was why I moved to Portland, Maine. I wanted to confront this vision of myself: an anonymous black man refracted through the vision of white eyes. I was determined to shrug off this condition and believe in myself as an individual making his own destiny.
That evening was the same atmosphere as always: dim lights, pool table and a dozen faces you’d never want to wake up next to. But then I noticed a man at the bar. He looked young, maybe in his early twenties, slim, athletic without being overly muscular and, surprisingly, black. I could count on my fingers the amount of brothers I’d seen in this city since arriving and never had I seen another black gay guy. I was caught off guard. The Ramones were playing on the jukebox and people were chugging their beer while chatting animatedly. The black guy looked like he was in a deep conversation with a white guy of similar age. I hung around the bar drinking a glass of rum and Coke. Then I had two more. I sensed people moving around me both frightened and intrigued by my presence. My pulse was racing as the alcohol blunted my senses, making everything feel easier and freer. I stared ahead at the bottles on the wall as if I was waiting for someone to come join me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see this black guy glancing over at me, but I didn’t acknowledge him. I’m not the type to make the first move.
A hefty bearded guy in a plaid shirt sidled up next to me and tried to chat me up. I concentrated on the way the colored lights shimmered in the mirror behind the bar and steadily sipped my rum. The guy nudged me and entreated me not to be so unfriendly. I shrugged him off and instead of hurling some racial insult at me like I expected, he wished me a good night. Maybe he expected that I’d go out back with him and suck his little stump of a dick while staring up at his big hairy belly. No way! Just the thought made me laugh and I nearly crashed into a table crowded with old guys sipping gin as I stumbled my way toward the door. That rum had made my legs more wobbly than I expected.
“Hey, you all right there?”
The black dude was at my side. He took my arm and held me steady. Even in my boozy state I could tell people were eyeing us warily, curious to see what would happen. He introduced himself as Darnel and asked if I needed a ride. I accepted and leaned on him a little more heavily than I actually needed to just to feel the warm dark skin of another brother against me. I liked his broad smile and his small ears and the way his face was so carefully clean shaven. My cock half rose in my pants already, anticipating the sex we might have. But, to my surprise, when Darnel offered a ride home, he really meant a ride home.
I was living in a shitty little apartment on Munjoy Hill with two other guys I barely knew. Darnel and I got to know each other as we drove up Congress Street. He was an ambitious law student, came from a moderately wealthy family who owned a Georgian construction business, and had an apprenticeship with a major judge. As smooth as silk, he laid out his future plans to bec
ome a criminal lawyer, buy a nice house in the affluent Cape Elizabeth area and settle down with a good man. This mentality was totally alien to me. Much to my parents’ disappointment, I had dropped out of Boston College and moved to Maine out of the blue. No plans. I was striking out on my own to declare my independence and be my own man. I initially got a job at a fast-food joint, but had since moved up to working as personal assistant to the president of an aircraft refinishing company. There was no clear outlook on my future. I was just feeling things out.
When we got to my building, I expected Darnel to get out with me so we could meander up to my bedroom and have messy sex while my roommates gnashed their teeth playing video games next door. Instead, he took my hand and said he’d very much like to see me again. His hand was smooth and creamy brown with a light warm touch that made me instantly feel at ease with him. This was like the good boy my mother always urged me to look out for, not the dirty rebellious gays she worried about. “Stay away from those types,” she warned. “They’re nasty.” After I came out to her, it took several months for her to get over my gayness and switch back to the nosey-mother role of wanting me to associate only with the “right” kind of people. Darnel was a real Theo Huxtable type, it appeared, who could give me security and stability.
Over the next three months we saw each other almost every day. He was engaging, witty and grounded. I felt at ease with him in a way I didn’t with most guys I’d met since being here. This was because I was always conscious of the careful way white guys talked around me. Except for a few cool friends, acquaintances were nervous about saying something that’d offend me or come out wrong. With Darnel it was easy. We took long walks around Fort Williams and made out in the crumbling concrete WWII structures. But we hadn’t yet had sex. Only a few quick gropes, where I felt something sizable throbbing down there. I imagined he had a large cock, which would fit snugly into my tight ass. Darnel insisted that we take things slow, really get to know each other. He had been burned too often by guys looking for quick sex.
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