Tangled Sheets

by Michael Thomas Ford

  “Do you believe in miracles, Father?” he asked, his voice low in Maguire’s ear.

  The priest shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ve always thought that miracles belonged only to those who talked to angels.”

  The man laughed. The head of his cock was tickling Maguire’s hole, rubbing teasingly against the tight opening.

  “Angels come in many forms, Father,” he said, and slid his prick deep into the priest’s ass.

  Maguire’s mouth flew open as a searing pain tore through his body, threatening to shatter his bones. But no sound came out, only a short burst of air. He leaned forward across the altar, his head resting at the foot of the cross, his lips open in an unspoken prayer. The man’s cock throbbed deep inside his belly, pulsing with heat, each spasm sending new tremors throughout the priest’s burning bowels.

  The man pulled back, his cockhead ripping through Maguire’s guts like hot lead. Then he roared back in, slamming against the priest’s ass and pushing the cross lashed to the priest’s cock against his nuts. He grasped Maguire around the waist and began pumping steadily at his aching hole, each thrust slapping painfully against his bound balls.

  Maguire lay under the man’s body like a sacrifice, the pain clawing at his insides. His hands held tightly to the sides of the altar, his heart beating ferociously in his chest like an animal in a trap. He fought to keep the pain from overcoming him, tried to ignore the grasp of the chain around his balls and the cock in his ass.

  Then, almost as quickly as it had come, the pain began to fade. It became a part of him. As the big prick beat against him, he let each thrust travel through him, welcomed the pain as pleasure, the fucking as a holy act. He let himself open to what was happening. The man’s thrusts became quicker, his cock ramming in and sliding out on the wine and cum. His fingers gripped the priest’s ass cheeks tightly, bruising the soft skin.

  Having his ass plowed by this strange angel became for Maguire an awakening from the sleep that had plagued him for so long. He felt his own prick, stiff and hungry beneath him, rubbing against the altar as the man’s weight bore down on him again and again, the trinity of his cock and balls touching his soul.

  “Do you feel it, Father?” the man gasped. “Do you believe now?”

  Maguire nodded, feeling the flesh inside him stiffen and swell, and he knew it was almost time. The man, sensing it also, plunged into the hungry chute, pushing his head deep into the priest’s welcoming hole. Maguire’s balls ached as they strained against their constraint. He felt a storm break loose in him, a wave of pleasure wash up and over his mind as he came in long spurts, coating his belly with sticky jism. At the same time, the man let out a roar that echoed through the sanctuary and shot in his bowels, a thick load that streamed out in a rush and flooded his insides with heat. The giant piece swelled and pulsed, and each time Maguire’s aching muscles clamped around it, sucking the last drops.

  The man pulled out, leaving Maguire’s hole satisfied and renewed, and began to put on his clothes without a word. The priest lay spent on the altar, the man’s cum slipping down his leg, his own cock half-hard and a dull ache in his balls. He did not turn to look at the man, but as he listened to him leave he knew that the next time he needed it faith would come very quickly to him.

  The Perfect Man

  I was trying to capture the experience of a couple making love to each other while each is thinking about someone else, in this case the same man.

  They saw the man at the same time, but since neither one openly acknowledged it, each thought that he was the only one to have noticed. He was buying a newspaper at the magazine stand on the corner of Twelfth and Broadway, his black-and-white dog sitting patiently, waiting to continue their walk. He was not remarkably attractive or even particularly well built. In the world of bars and dance clubs in which they moved, he would never have stood out as one of the sought-after ones.

  In fact, he looked like any number of men who had exchanged their weekday suits for jeans, a blue work shirt, and sneakers. His dark hair was graying at the temples, and he wore round, gold-framed glasses. They passed by him quickly, and anyone watching would not have even been aware that anything had passed between them. Certainly the man himself was unaware that he had been the object of their notice.

  Perhaps it was his ordinariness. Or perhaps it was the dog. Whatever it was, he remained in the backs of their minds for the rest of the walk home like a secret waiting to make itself known when the moment was right. As they made the necessary rounds of the grocers and dry cleaners, their conversations were about the price of beef and the friends they would see the next day. But the man moved in the shadows behind their words, growing in size until it was time to be born.

  The time came for both of them that afternoon. As Patrick showered, he suddenly thought about kissing the man’s mouth and was surprised to find that the idea excited him. He ran a soapy hand over his balls, and his cock responded by swelling quickly, filling his fingers with wet heat. As he stroked it idly, he imagined running his tongue along the man’s neck, then slipping it between his lips and feeling the hardness of his teeth. He came into his hand as the man’s lips closed on his collarbone.

  In the bedroom, Scott lay on the bed trying to focus on the book in his hands. His eyes scanned the page, reading and rereading the same sentences as his concentration wavered like heat lines from sun-baked pavement. The hard-on that pressed uncomfortably against the buttons of his jeans forced him to think not of the characters in his book, who were in the middle of solving a mystery he could no longer remember, but about the man at the newsstand. He felt a sudden need to jerk off and rubbed the head of his prick between his fingers through the rough denim, enjoying the feeling of the scratchy cloth on the sensitive skin of his cock.

  In his daydream, he had met the man late at night while walking home from some unspecified activity. After a confirming nod and brief conversation, he had gone with the man to his apartment. The man was now standing behind Scott with his arms around him, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping his hand inside and along the smooth curves of Scott’s chest. His breath came warm against the back of Scott’s neck as he tugged at his nipple, whispering in his ear exactly what it was he was going to do to him.

  Patrick emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He had a white towel wrapped around his waist and his skin was flushed from the shower. He looked at Scott lying on the bed, the hard-on obvious through his pants, and saw in his mind the man lying there smiling at him. His cock began to stretch with new life, pushing slightly against the towel as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Scott’s crotch.

  Scott, irritated that his daydream had been interrupted, but feeling also a little bit guilty about his secret pleasure, touched Patrick’s forearm, feeling the hardened muscles beneath the skin. He wondered if the man was hairy, and decided that he was. He liked the feel of hair on a man’s body, the way it was both soft and rough against his skin. He liked the way it slid against his own smooth flesh when he lay against another man, their legs entwined and their cocks pressing against one another’s stomachs.

  He felt his fingers traveling up the man’s arm, stroking the thick fur of his forearms and slipping into the forest of his chest. The man’s chest hair was short and dark, spreading in a soft splash across his pectorals and shading his torso, where it formed a whirlpool around his navel.

  As his hands swept over Patrick’s well-developed chest, Scott’s vision of the man became clearer. His body was wide and solid, his muscles firm but not sculpted into the too-perfect lines of the gym rats Scott was tired of seeing in all the magazines and infesting the bars like some kind of human vermin. His stomach had the slight softness of a man who did not think twice about indulging himself, a reassuring weightiness that Scott found intensely comforting.

  Scott’s touch on his arm was stirring Patrick’s prick to attention. He took his lover’s hand and moved it down to where the towel forme
d a boundary across his waist. He undid the buttons of Scott’s fly, feeling beneath it the cock aching to be free. Scott lifted his feet up, his weight resting on the small of his back, and Patrick pulled his jeans down and off, depositing them on the floor. Scott pulled off his T-shirt, throwing it unceremoniously on a chair by the bed.

  Now Scott’s cock lay hard and straight against his groin, a streamlined wand pointing up from naturally smooth balls that nestled snugly in the valley between his legs. He pictured himself in the man’s bedroom. In his mind he furnished it with a large wooden bed covered in white sheets, across which his nude body now stretched while he looked up at the man as he undressed slowly, carefully folding each garment as he removed it and placed it carefully in a pile on his dresser.

  He watched as the man removed his shirt, unbuttoning the cuffs one at a time and then letting the shirt fall down his back. His pants came next, each button on the well-worn fly released by the thick fingers of the man’s broad hands. Once they were off, revealing the long, straight legs, the man was left in his boxer shorts. Turning his back to Scott, he slid them over his ass, the firm moons of his cheeks emerging from the ocean of white cotton. Scott waited for him to turn, holding his breath as he tried to imagine what the man’s cock would look like.

  After seven years together, Patrick had memorized every line of Scott’s body, knew even in the dark where to place his fingers and what it would feel like. He knew that if he wrapped his hand around Scott’s tool that he would relax and push himself against Patrick’s fingers, knew well the low groan that would come from Scott’s throat if he were to take his cockhead between his lips.

  He wondered if the man would moan also when touched, and thought as Scott sucked him about what his body looked and felt like. Unlike Scott, Patrick did not worry about matters of the how and the why. He and the man were alone together, that’s all that he needed or wanted to know. The only detail he allowed himself was that it was on neutral territory—the steamy room of a bathhouse, perhaps, where names meant nothing and what occurred there had no bearing on what came before or after.

  The man was once again kissing him, his lips searching Patrick’s face and neck before resting on his mouth. He was already naked, his cock rising hard and insistent from his loins. Patrick’s hands moved over his back easily. For him the man was smaller than he was for Scott, his shoulders narrower, his height slightly less than Patrick’s. The skin of his chest was smooth and silky, the nipples well formed. Patrick slid his hands down the taut stomach and grabbed the waiting prick tightly.

  When the man finally turned toward Scott, holding the shorts in his hand, his cock swung easily between his legs. He paused a moment, letting Scott soak in the sight of him shadowed by the moonlight from the window, before moving softly toward the bed. When he was standing beside the bed, Scott rolled over and took his prick into his mouth. As he sucked it, it grew harder and longer, filling Scott’s mouth easily. When it would no longer fit completely in his mouth, Scott concentrated on the head, sucking on the smooth surface of it as his hand played with the man’s hairy ballsac.

  The man put his hand gently but insistently on Scott’s neck, directing him with subtle movements of his fingers how best to give him pleasure. When Scott sucked too eagerly, the man slowed him with pressure from his palm, urging him to take time with the sensitive head, letting his tongue explore the tiny piss slit and the valley that merged into the shaft. Scott wet his lips with his tongue and let several inches of the man slide into his throat, where he let it rest while he soaked up the taste of his musk.

  Patrick too was indulging in the man’s prick, but which of them was getting pleasure from the experience it did not occur to him to ask. When Patrick did bend down to put Scott’s cockhead into his mouth, it was the man’s prick that slipped between his lips. Thinner than Scott’s, it fit comfortably in his mouth like a hand slipping into a glove. The head was not much larger than the shaft, tapered to a blunt point and uncut. The thin foreskin slid smoothly over the warm flesh as he moved farther down the shaft.

  As Patrick sucked the stranger’s cock, the man groaned, urging him to take more of it into his mouth. He spread his legs wider and rocked his hips back and forth, fucking Patrick’s mouth in short, gentle thrusts as he lapped slowly at the head, drawing drops of sticky juice from its manhole. Patrick fingered the man’s balls while he sucked, tugging them a little roughly to bring deeper groans from his throat.

  While Patrick blew him, Scott explored beneath his lover’s towel, finding the throbbing prick that waited for him. Patrick’s dick was drooling precum, and Scott used it to slick the veiny length of flesh, running his palm over the thick inches of man meat between Patrick’s thighs. He pulled the towel from Patrick’s waist and pulled him onto the bed.

  Although it was his lover’s body that moved against him, it was the man who lay beside Scott now, his hot mouth sucking on Scott’s cock gently, taking his time. Scott ran his hand along the man’s back, sliding into the valley between his buttocks, feeling there the dense hair he loved, so different from Patrick’s smooth body. Bringing the man’s legs over his chest, he was positioned directly beneath his balls, which hung enticingly down inches from Scott’s mouth. The man’s cockhead rested on his chest.

  Scott leaned forward and licked the area behind the man’s balls, feeling his body tense at the sensation. He ran his tongue lazily across the fat nuts. Then, putting his hands on the man’s ass, he buried his face between his cheeks, something Patrick would never allow, finding it distasteful. The man’s ass crack smelled of sweat and heat. At its center lay the puckered opening to his chute, and Scott dove in hungrily. Barely able to breathe, he kissed deeply, his tongue pushing into the man’s ass, feeling the muscle close around it, tasting the sweet flesh.

  The man responded by grinding his butt harder against Scott’s mouth, at the same time taking Scott’s cock deep into his throat. As Scott fucked him with his tongue, the man rocked back and forth, driving Scott’s tool into his mouth, then reversing direction and letting his hole brush against Scott’s lips. Together, they rolled like a paper boat on the ocean, rising and falling against one another’s motions in an endless flow that would be broken only when one of them broke away.

  Patrick stopped sucking Scott’s cock and rolled onto his back. He stroked his prick as Scott knelt between his legs and began to lick at his balls. In the steam room, the man was on his knees in front of Patrick, hungrily deep-throating the cock, bigger than his own, that hung before him. While the motion of Scott’s mouth on his cock was slow and steady, the man’s was heated. Patrick enjoyed watching the man suck his prick, enjoyed the lust that seemed to drive him into pushing inch after inch into his throat.

  He held the man’s head in his hands, fucking the soft lips with long strokes that brought the head of his cock to just inside the warm mouth before going in again. The man’s hair was rough beneath his fingers, the muscles of his jaw moving beneath the skin as he slurped on Patrick’s tool. Patrick pulled his prick out of the man’s mouth and shoved his balls forward, urging him to wash them. The man sucked first one and then the other of Patrick’s orbs into his hungry mouth while Patrick continued to stroke his shaft.

  Scott and the man were now intertwined in a tangle of arms and legs. The man had his hands on Scott’s ass, with Scott’s legs crossed around the man’s neck. His mouth was busily working on Scott’s prick while his own cock was enjoying the attentions of Scott’s lips. Scott was pressing himself up, his arms locked around the man’s hairy thighs and his stomach rubbing against the man’s chest.

  They broke apart, and Scott began to explore the man’s body with his tongue, beginning at the feet. His tongue darted hungrily into the places between the man’s toes before he took one of them into his mouth, the rough skin sliding against his lips. Releasing it, he ran his mouth over the top of the foot and up the leg. It felt wonderful to be tasting every inch of the man’s body, every curve of muscle and rise and fall of flesh.


  The man stretched, lying back on the pillows of the bed as Scott bathed him. Scott traced the inside of the man’s thigh, letting his tongue flicker momentarily over his exposed cock and balls before sinking into the soft fur of his groin. The man’s flesh gave way under his mouth, and Scott pressed his face into the warm skin, moving up until he reached the man’s nipple. Covering it with his lips, he bit gently, just enough to make the man groan softly. The man’s hands were behind his head, and Scott licked at the thick fur of his armpits, feeling beneath the skin the muscles of the man’s shoulders.

  Patrick, aroused by the vision he was having of the man servicing him, pulled out of Scott’s mouth and urged his lover to lie down on his stomach. Moving behind him, he positioned himself so that his cock was resting between Scott’s cheeks. He started to rub his body over Scott’s, his prick sliding against the smooth skin of his ass.

  But for Scott it was the man who was now grinding against him, the hair on his chest scraping pleasantly along Scott’s back as he covered him with the broad expanse of his chest, his arms stretching over Scott’s, his strong fingers holding Scott’s wrists. The man’s breath was hot and ragged on the back of his neck once more as he groaned with the desire that Scott’s tonguing had roused in him. Scott waited, holding his breath, for the moment when the big cock that teased his asshole would enter it, filling him completely.

  In Patrick’s steam room, the man was bent over the table that was the centerpiece of the room. His legs were spread, and Patrick was concentrating on rubbing lube into the tight pucker of his asshole. Pink and clean, it was nestled between the round globes of the man’s smooth buttocks like a small flower waiting for him to discover it.

  His finger slipped into the man’s opening, gliding in up to the knuckle. Patrick could feel the muscles of the man’s sphincter contract around his hand, hugging him tightly. He turned his finger, loosening the man slightly, and began to thrust. The man rocked back, meeting his hand as it entered him from behind, his balls swinging between his legs as his cock bobbed untouched with the motion of his body.