Tangled Sheets

by Michael Thomas Ford

  “I’d love to see that nice hairy chest covered in some fresh cum,” he said, pulling up hard on my cockhead.

  “Just keep it up,” I gasped, “and you won’t have to wait long.”

  Jake leaned back and gripped our pricks so that they were both sticking straight up, held in his firm grasp. He increased the speed of his movements, and I felt my load boiling to the surface. “Oh, Christ,” I moaned. “I’m going to shoot all over the place.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to see,” Jake said, and squeezed his cock against mine as the first volley exploded from my dick. A thick string of jism, pale as milk, splashed into the air and onto my chest, landing in a long line from my throat to my balls. A second and third sent even more sticky drops onto my stomach and across Jake’s hand. He continued to pump both of us, and I watched as his dickhead swelled and then released a mammoth load straight up in the air. The pearls of man juice scattered over his chest and fell back onto my balls, soaking me as he came repeatedly. I felt his prick jerking wildly as he shot again and again, unloading more cum than I’d ever seen.

  By the time we had both finished, my whole torso was spattered with spunk and Jake’s hand was dripping with it. Jake brought his hand to his mouth and licked some of the cum from his fingers. “Tastes great,” he said as he swallowed our mingled loads.

  “Yeah, well, there’s sure enough of it,” I said as I fingered the sticky swirls on my chest.

  Jake laughed, low and pleasant just like Adam, and leaned down. Taking my cock in his mouth, he sucked it clean of every drop of leftover cum. Then he moved up my body, licking up the smears of white as he worked his way toward my chest. His tongue darted into my navel and roamed through the line of fur on my stomach, sucking eagerly. When he reached one of my nipples, he bit it slightly, and a shiver ran down my spine. He sensed it and began to suck, gently at first and then more forcefully, until I was writhing on the bed. I put my hands on his head and pressed him to me, feeling my cock harden again as he worked me over with his tongue.

  I was arched against Jake, my cock sliding between his legs as his mouth tortured my nipple, when he finally released my aching tit and moved his mouth up to my lips. He was hovering over me, resting his hands on either side of me as he bent and kissed me for the first time, the head of his cock resting on my stomach. My mouth welcomed his, and his tongue slipped inside. I reached up and pulled him down on top of me. The heaviness of him crushed me pleasantly as I let him cover my body with his, my arms going around his back.

  Feeling Jake’s hardness between my legs, I couldn’t wait to have him inside my ass. I lifted my legs up a little on either side of him, and his cock slipped naturally under my balls and into the crack of my ass. I felt his bush press against my balls and pushed myself against him in return. “I want you to fuck me,” I said in his ear. “I want you to fuck me as hard as you can.”

  Jake didn’t have to be told twice. Sitting up, he pushed my knees back so that my asshole was exposed. He ran his hand across my hairy ass cheeks and massaged them roughly before plunging one thick finger into my waiting hole. I cried out a little as he penetrated me, but it felt great to have him inside. I hadn’t been fucked in a long time, and my body welcomed the pressure inside my ass eagerly. When after a minute Jake pulled out and I felt the tip of his cock pressing against me, I held my breath.

  Jake pushed forward and slid deep into my ass, my legs sliding over his broad shoulders. I clenched my teeth as pain ripped through me, and I felt tears coming to my eyes as my hole stretched to its limits. Then, just as suddenly, he was in, and I could relax and enjoy the way he filled me up, the way his hands gripped my thighs. I could feel his dick twitching as he waited to start his thrusting, and I clamped my ass muscles around him.

  At first he fucked me gently, slowly sliding the length of his tool in and out of my aching pucker, teasing me with the tip before popping back in. As he did, I stroked my cock in time with him. It felt so good to have him inside me that I was glad it was him and not Adam. Jake probably knew a lot more than his son about how to really fuck a man, and I was enjoying every one of his tricks. He had me begging for more, and I was loving it.

  Once I was worked up, Jake really began to pound me. Putting my hands on his ass, I could feel the thick muscles dimpling and releasing as he slapped against my thighs. My balls smacked heavily against his stomach as he plowed me, and my hole started to burn from the friction of his pistoning cock. Jake pushed my legs back until my knees were almost against my shoulders, giving him even more room to fuck me senseless. Again and again he pulled his prick out to the very end, letting my hole close over the tip before ripping me open again. I came close to losing my load several times, but each time I forced myself to wait, not wanting it to be over.

  Jake began to groan, and I felt him start to come deep inside me, his cock swelling even wider as the load tore into my shitter. Feeling Jake’s man load stream into me, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to shoot,” I moaned.

  Jake slipped out of my ass and bent down. Grabbing my balls, he held them tightly as he slid my piece into his mouth. My dick began firing off round after round of jism as his lips closed around it. It felt like I was being split in two as my body shook over and over and I came inside Jake’s throat, pushing myself as far as I could into him. He slurped down every shot that blasted from my cock, his throat rippling as he drank it and his fingers pushing the last drops up my spent crank.

  When he’d swallowed the last of my cum, he let my dick fall from his lips and once more lay on top of me. I felt his heart beating as we lay in the darkness, and I ran my hands over his back. My asshole was warm with his load, and I could feel the ache where his prick had been.

  “Does it bother you that it wasn’t Adam?” he asked. “I kind of got the feeling that you were interested in him. But you looked so hot standing there naked that I couldn’t hold back any longer. I’ve been thinking about that ass of yours ever since you got here.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, well, I know what that’s like. But no, it’s okay. Besides, maybe that old saying is true. You know, like father, like son.”

  Jake kissed me. “Well, I don’t know about Adam. But if that’s the case, then I’d sure love to meet your dad.”

  The next morning, as Adam and I were getting ready to leave, Jake came over to the car to say good-bye. “It was good having you, Tom,” he said, his eyes shining. “Be sure and come again.”

  “Thanks, I’m sure I will,” I said. Then, leaning close so that only he could hear, I added, “I’m just not sure whether it will be with you or with Adam.”

  Three Wishes

  This was my contribution to an anthology I edited of gay erotic fairy tales. Personally, I’d wish for Giants season tickets, a gig writing for Oz, and a pony.

  Three wishes.

  That’s what the lucky ones always get in the fairy tales—three wishes, right? Only they always fuck it up, asking for shit like hair more golden than the sun, or to be as beautiful as the day. And more than likely, whatever freaky fairy it is that gives them the wishes in the first place decides it would be a real laugh to make it all backfire, so they end up with golden hair all right, but it’s on their backs, or the day they’re as beautiful as is a gray, rainy Thursday in November, or some other crazy shit. It never works out right. Never.

  So we all read these things and we think about how fucking smart we’d be if we were the ones doing the wishes. Remember as kids, sitting around talking about how bad-ass we’d be if some crazy bitch in a ball gown appeared and said, “Okay, go to it”? Saying how we’d wish for all the money in the world first, all the chocolate in the world second, and then always use the last wish to wish for three more wishes so it could go on forever. We thought we were so damn smart, smarter than any enchanted frog or genie or whatever the hell it is that dishes the wishes out. Yeah, well, we thought watching Little House on the Prairie was cool, too, and look how far that got us.

  Flash ahe
ad about twenty-five years. Picture those same little kids (well, not all of the same ones, but all about the same age, anyway) that were sitting around acting so smart, but now they’re all grown up. This time they’re sitting around in a bar. Or, to be more precise, they’re standing around in a bar. And this bar happens to cater to the type of men who sometimes find themselves in the position of granting wishes, although none of them are what you’d call fairies, at least not to their faces, and the wishes aren’t exactly the kind you think of when you think of Cinderella and her pals.

  I’m one of those men. That little boy who grew up sitting on the couch in Star Wars pajamas watching half-pint Laura Ingalls scamper all over the Wisconsin countryside grew into a damn fine top man. Six-three. Two-ten. Hung big. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say I could take on Almanzo and Pa together in the old hayloft and have them walking out sideways begging for more. I’ve learned a thing or two since those Thursday nights in front of the tube waiting for Nellie Oleson to get hers in a pile of mud.

  So the place is a bar on a fairly typical Sunday night. Not your usual setting for a fairy tale, but enchanted castles and cottages made of candy are hard to come by these days, the real-estate market being what it is. And wandering through the woods has never been my thing. The men are in the corners, watching but not watching, listening to John Michael Montgomery blare out of the speakers. You know how it is. They stand around seething sex but pretending they get it so often it doesn’t matter if anyone notices or not. They aren’t important anyway; they’re just there for background.

  The boys, on the other hand, are lined up at the bar, waiting, hoping one of the men seemingly not looking at anything is in fact looking right at their asses and sizing them up. Consider it a casting call for the role of the ingenue in the tale that’s about to unfold. Someone’s got to play Little Red or Snow White, right? Fairy tales don’t go so well when there’s no one to root for.

  I’m standing where I always stand, against the wall nearest to the bathroom. That’s where I do my best work, in there where the air tastes of sweat and heat and the floor is pooled with piss. I like the way hungry boys lick the drops of other mens’ water off my boots, the way they look when they’re kneeling on that floor and their faces are turned up to me just before I shove my dick down their throats. What can I say, if you’ve ever been there, you know what I mean.

  That’s when I start thinking about this wish thing. I don’t know why. It just comes to me out of the blue while I’m looking at this boy’s ass and wondering if he could take me dry. I say boy, but you know what I mean. He’s twenty-five if he’s a day, but he’s a boy as far as I’m concerned. So boy he is. And this boy looks like he needs someone to teach him a thing or two. That’s how the story starts. No once upon a time or any of that shit. Just one guy wondering what it would be like to fuck another one’s ass. It’s the same thing.

  I take a swallow of my whiskey, and there it is. The characters are chosen, the story begins. The boy does have a nice ass. The kind you—or I, anyway—would like to see humped over a urinal while I slap it good and pink. The kind with big, firm mounds that beg to be pushed aside to reveal the tight little ring inside. It’s packed into faded jeans, and the denim is worn soft.

  He turns around, and I get a good look at him. The rest of him is standard-issue boy: white T-shirt, military-short dark hair, cute face, work boots. He looks as though he just got off work at the factory, but he’s probably an accountant. He probably drives a Saab and drinks flavored water. He probably reads Architectural Digest. Mr. Benson may have been great for business, but it’s not reality. Just another kind of fairy tale.

  But there is that ass. And tonight I’m feeling generous. I walk over to the bar and stop in front of him. “Bathroom,” I say. “Now.” I turn and walk away.

  Yeah, I know, in most of the old stories the hero has to go through all of these trials before you get to the good part. Well, dragons went on the endangered species list years ago, and I’m all out of magic beans, tricky foxes dressed up as giggling girls, and impossible riddles. I figure what he’s going to get if he’s still behind me will more than make up for the lack of two-headed giants, bewitched forests, and troll-infested bridges.

  Of course he follows me. There wouldn’t be a story if he didn’t. And they always do anyway. It’s why Jack climbed the beanstalk. It’s why the hero always opens the door he’s told not to. It’s why they always pick the one rose that’s off limits. That’s why they’re boys.

  The bathroom hasn’t been cleaned in a while. It being Sunday night and all, the help has the day off. There’s piss on the floor, and the smell is strong. Some guy is taking a leak in one of the urinals. He turns around when I come in, his dick half-hard in his hand.

  The boy is behind me when I turn. He is looking at the floor, not saying anything. So far, so good. I walk over and rip his T-shirt from throat to waist. His chest is smooth, well developed in a lean way. Both nipples are pierced through with thick hoops. There is a black tattoo around his right bicep, some typical boy thing that does nothing for me.

  I yank his jeans open and down. He’s not wearing underwear, and he’s shaved. He has a long, fat dick and heavy balls, and his cock is half-hard. There is another thick ring through the head of his prick. Boys are all starting to look the same, I think. Why do queers think assimilation is alternative? Again, it’s his ass that saves him. Naked it’s even prettier than it was wrapped up in jeans. Snow White, indeed, I think as I admire his pale skin.

  I pull his head back by the hair, which is just long enough for me to be able to get my fingers into. His white throat is exposed as I look down into his eyes, which are dark and expectant.

  “Three wishes, boy,” I say. “Tonight you get three wishes. And I suggest you use them wisely, because if you don’t, this ball is over way before midnight.”

  I push the boy to his knees. He hits the floor hard, his knees splashing in a pool of rank piss. He looks up at me, his sweet face a mirror of confusion. He doesn’t understand what I have given him, I think. He’s probably never even read “The Fisherman and His Wife.”

  I slap the boy’s face fiercely, partly because he is slow to answer me and partly because there’s no excuse for not knowing at least the basic tenets of fairy law. My hand leaves a dark red print on his cheek.

  “Wish one, boy.”

  The boy pauses a moment, then spits out his first thought. “I wish to suck your cock, sir.”

  Good boy, I think. I open my jeans and pull my dick out. The boy’s mouth opens, and I shove myself inside, feeling his warmth surround me as he begins to suck. My dick quickly hardens as his tongue sweeps up and down my length, and soon he is riding my full width. I grip the back of his neck and show him how I like it. I wonder if Jack and the giant did it like this. I imagine the singing harp belting out “I Will Survive” as Jack rushes away with her.

  The man at the urinal is still there. He’s jerking on his prick as he watches us, his balls slapping with the rhythm of his hand. I let him stay because I enjoy showing off, and because I know the boy will work harder with an audience. Every good story needs someone to hear it, right?

  I have to admit this boy is good. His lips pull at my head while his tongue runs along my shaft, coaxing a load up from my balls. His head moves smoothly and efficiently as he sucks. Between his legs, his cock has stiffened, the ring filling with his engorged head. He does not touch it.

  I pull my cock out of his mouth and come, spattering his boy face with a nice load. It hits him first just beneath his left eye, the stain spreading down his cheek. The next burst slathers across his lips. His tongue snakes out, and he licks my spunk from his skin, swallowing with his eyes shut. I slash a final ribbon of sticky heat across his neck, where it lies for a moment like a translucent vein before dripping, ice-creamlike, down the hollow of his throat.

  After the boy has washed the last traces of cum from my cockhead, he looks up into my face. The drying remna
nts of my need crackle on his skin as the movement of his muscles breaks the thin layers of white into tiny lines. He has made no motion to wipe away these stains on his flesh. He still has not touched his cock, which rears up hard and insistent, the tip drooling a thin string of precum that just touches the pool of piss in which he is kneeling.

  “Wish two, boy,” I say.

  This time there is no hesitation. “I wish to be fucked by you, sir.” His voice is soft, but clear.

  Again, he has wished well. I grab his arm and pull him to his feet. His feet are still bound by his jeans, and he stumbles as I push him toward the urinals, but he does not fall. He puts his hands on either side of the urinal and leans forward. His face is over the bowl, breathing in the ripe scent of piss left there by dozens of men. His ass is facing me, waiting. The man who has been watching us has moved over. He leans against the wall, as though waiting for a bus, while he strokes his shaft.

  I part the boy’s ass cheeks with my hands. His hole is smooth, pink, and tight as I slip my cock inside. It is rough going without any spit, but he takes me easily, moaning as I invade him. When I am fully inside, I pause for a moment. This is the part I relish most, the feeling of being surrounded by the hungry throat of a boy’s ass. The length of my cock beats with his heat as I begin to fuck him.

  How come the characters in fairy tales never have sex? We all know that’s what they’re about, but no one actually ever fucks anyone else. Like Rapunzel was inviting the prince up to have a fucking tea party or something. And Beauty lived with Beast as a prisoner and no good S-M scenes ever went on? You know he had her ass in a sling first chance he got, and she liked it, too. I figure all the old guys who wrote these things down sat in their studies scribbling out stories and jerking their cranks at the same time.