A gay story: A Hero in the making Alister is sitting in the lounge of the speakeasy, holding a cigar up to his lips while his lips grip the stub of one end, he has been mulling over a scotch whiskey on the rocks. His baby blue eyes spying on the other people in the lounge, the darkness hiding his scarred and rugged face well. His eyes trail over the scene in the lounge, male on male loving touch and feeling among the escorts and wishful buyers.
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Alister was from a worker’s man family, his father was a big man, strong man, and worked in the Virginia coal mines. Due to his large size and brutish strength at his age he got the job of being a Getter, one who mainly worked to dig out coal, working continually for as long as he can in one or two sittings, working longer and harder than many other men that were older than him. But his meager wage wasn’t enough to keep the house and support two people, so he was forced to watch as his mother sold herself to men.
His ears heard it through the walls, her moans and groans, as men used her and then left. His mind often went to thoughts of other men, but not as the person receiving the shaft but giving it. He had long dreams at night of giving to other men what men gave to his mother, a rough and strong fuck. He was turning 18 soon, and he might have such a chance. His eyes, while in the dark mines, often wandered to another boy that worked in the mine as a hurrier, of similar age but of smaller and slimmer stature.
The littler boy also was caught looking at the often shirtless and sweating, both of them making longing looks at the other as Alister often dreamt of the younger lad lying below him, Alister’s callused hands rubbing up from his hips and up toward the chest. Both turning Eighteen yesterday, Alister has finally decided to make the first move, seeking to gain a private time with the runty lad who also recently turned 18 years old.
Their chance at an opening began after their shift ended in the mine.
Alister and the other lad, name was Peter Cooke, were hanging out at a saloon, recently turning of age and the company town saloon not soon after their shift. They were drinking at the bar, slowly drinking away at watered down beer they were being served on company credit. Alister was holding off on drinking down his company credit allowance on beer. He wasn’t as tired as other men around them, with his eyes ogling the 18 year old next to him. He wanted him, feeling an aching in his heart, and more importantly, his loins for the person sitting next to him, but he catches the odd looks and stares from Cooke as well. Alister eventually gets up, murmuring to Cooke about meeting with him out behind the saloon and into the forest. Fingers slowly move down from the shoulder where he pat down to the lower back and near the butt, but he doesn’t touch it yet in public in the full saloon.
Alister moved out from the back of the tavern, heading to the copse out behind the main Saloon in the town. His shaft was bulging down his pants leg, feeling it harden at the thought of finally feeling the loving embrace of another man. Alister’s fingers fumble with his buttons and zipper, getting the pants flared open, black hands staining his length with smears while he leans against a tree, forehead pushed against a large arm while he began to empty his bladder, panting out as the dark images in his mind fills his head, with thoughts he wished he could stop, but he just loves them to much.
Alister finishes as he hears footsteps, moving to hide behind the tree, equipment still exposed as he listens and waits, eyeing the figure through the darkness as his large figure waits to spring or run depending on who is coming out here. But his eyes do not deceive him as he sees the smaller lad, and his slender form. The younger lad waits and looks around for the figure, slowly moving forward, but Alister’s hand snatches out, grabbing his wrist as he easily pulled the stunted lad up and against a tree, leaning down and quickly kissing the struggling lad. Cooke, after the initial shock, begins to get into it as he returns the kiss, both of them beginning to explore each other bodies, opening up coal smeared shirts and tattered undergarments while Alister’s hard shaft pushed up against Cooke crotch and Cooke wraps his legs around Alister’s muscled hips, relying on Alister to support him.
Alister is the first to move toward the crotch, while Cooke felt the muscled abs and strong pecs of the bigger man. Alister opens Cooke pants and opens the pants, moving them down as much as he can currently while he begins to frot their penises, rubbing them together slowly while they continue to make out but finally come up for breath. “I am going to fuck you.” Alister’s deep voice demands of Cooke, not requesting it, but Cooke, in a meeker and quieter voice thick with want, says. “Please, give me it.” Alister then moves his length lower as his hands move down from Cooke’s hips and onto his ass cheeks, feeling the tight small cheeks fill in his hands as he moves his size up between the cheeks, but missing the hole for a few thrust, still being inexperienced in the world of male love.
After a while, Alister having to put his hand up on a tree and steady himself, push his tip against Cooke rim, feeling the tightness of the virgin as he thinks for a second before he thrust it up into it, hearing the audible scream of Cooke as he quickly placed a hand on his mouth, letting him scream into his hand while he begins his demands from the innocent. His cock is thrusting deep, moving deep and hitting deep pressure points as he begins to hear Cooke moan and groan, removing his hand while he again moves the large calluses hand down onto the youths body, moving back down to the hip as his other begins to jerk the cock of Cooke.
Cooke was fast to cum, being inexperienced in lovemaking pleasures, but Alister wasn’t far behind as he pumped his cock in for a few final thrust before lodging it deep as he goes in for another kiss, trying to sloppy French kiss him, seeing a few men doing it with women they used, but with no experience, he just does it badly as he finally shoves his tongue into Cooke’s mouth, moving along the lips and then beginning to fight with his new lover’s tongue.
They both separate as they both finish again, with Alister sending a load deep within the man. Alister quickly shoves his softening dick back into his pants, pulling the suspenders as his legs tumble back lightly, being exhausted from the two long fucks they did back to back. His instincts were telling him to run, move to safety, and leave the smaller fellow. But his heart pulled him to the ground as he slowly kneed down to the panting lad, moving up against him and murmuring words of love, slowly touching him and moving his hands across his body.
A few hours pass as they put themselves together. The world seeming like molasses, both of them moving slowly, savoring the moments while they leave with one parting kiss and for Alister, a grope, the hand moving along the back and down to the tight ass, clawing at the cheek before releasing and they depart to head back to their homes.
Alister arrived home, seeing someone on his porch, though not a John, as his boots stomped up and greeted the man occupying his porch, hands shaking “Hello Alister, the name is August Short” Their hands separating as Alister nods to the man questioning, letting him continue to talk while keeping a straight face.
“I have come to talk to you about a cause, an event is upcoming on the coming Sunday. The event will be a stri-” To which Alister quickly covered his mouth, looking around as he pulled up to his full height, looking the man deeply in the eyes and using his great strength to lift the man up off the porch, who stood of similar height to Alister, and began to talking. “You shut the fuck up about any sort of activity like that, I don’t want to hear any more talk on this.” His voice quiet and mumbling under his breath as he looks back at the road and eyes a Pinkerton holding his attention to look down at the pair of men. Alister moves quickly, shoving the man into his house and it pushes the not lockable swinging door of the shack into it and then kicking him in the ass to slide him further into the building, screaming. “Get in there! And fucking sleep it off, tired of you wasting all our fucking credit on booze and alcohol.” Alister’s eyes spy back at the Pinkerton who is walking away from the end of the street. Once the dick left, he went back inside to the man, gripping him up by his collar as he dragged him up to the wall, yelling in his face.
“You brought those fucking eyes on us! You Socialist bastard! Get out of here now; I want you gone now, off my property and never fucking come back here” He lets the man go, dropping him onto the balls of his feet as he walks into the kitchen, picking up a bucket filled with water and putting it in the sink. He begins to cup water up into his dirty face, slowly washing the black coal marks from his face and hands, before stopping because he hears the voice behind him, “You have a great strength sir,” His eyes looking around at the poorer accommodations of the company housing, “You would be a great asset to the upcoming strike, we are protesting for better wages and protections from the local robber baron.” Alister shushes him, quietly thinking. His mind races back to all the moments he had to push forward, making more money through his work but always having that one more goal post to pass through, his mother having to work on her back, pulling in what money she can and get a excuse to stay here with her son, since she needs a job to live in this company town.
He is tired, angry and overall just wanting something to call his own. Everything here is just built off the backs of the workers, everything costs too much and just puts people in debt. His hands begin to turn white, memories flooding back, his rage building. Yelling out in rage as he rips the sink from the counter, raising it up over his head and crushing it down. The wood folding and then snapping as he crushes the ceramic, metal bucket and gets soaked from the splash of water and it rains down over him.
“Fine, I will come to the strike and support your movement, but do not come back here anymore, for both of our sakes.” The man begins to leave as Alister watches him leave from the kitchen window. He hears his mother calling down for him, quickly moving to the steps as he yells up the stairs, “Don’t worry! It was just something I bumped into and fell over, I will clean it up and go buy a new one.” Moving quickly as he cleans up the broken kitchen sink, its wooden splinters, boards and general ceramics. After a while he walks through the small house/shack, heading into the living room to a specific section of the room, crouching behind a well worn and used couch, and pulls up a board he installed above a small little secret space. His hand reaches in and grabs an aged and cheap looking Dragoon, its large form filling out palm and squeaking as he holds it tightly, fingers slowly wrapping around the grip. His thumb, calloused and scarred, pulls on the hammer as he hears the cylinder clicking and moving between chambers.
“Honey!? You alright?” It was his mother, hearing her footsteps moving down the rickety staircase, her voice carrying through the first floor of the shack, to which he called up after her, “Yea, I’m alright mom, you can go back to bed and get ready for tonight. I just need to go out and meet up with some fellows I am friends with at work.” To which he peers around and sees her nod, before moving back up into the second floor to go rest up for the coming night of her work. He has some stuff to work through first.
It was later the same day which was when the strike was planned, with Alister heading to it to see what the promises and fighting was about. His clothes were much of the same he wears in the mine, suspenders and plain button up, with tough work pants and a worn out flat cap on his head. His eyes were fast to seek about, hearing voices as he walked through the front of stores and salons, boots pressing down on the wood with quite the weight. The shouting was men and women’s voices alike, protesting in front of the local sheriff office, a picket line about 5 or 7 men deep in the mid sections.
“Living wage! No more starvation wages!”
“Healthy working conditions!”
“Fuck the Industrialist!”
This was the chants of the crowd as his eyes scanned it and saw someone he was familiar with, Peter. Peter was chanting with the crowd, toward the rear of it, his smaller stature hiding his face as he yells up at the sheriff office, watching as the policemen and constables who have assembled in front of the crowd, with black jacks and other beating utensils. Alister was quick to enter the crowd, grabbing at Peter’s arm, “What are you doing here? You are supposed to be home, safe”. His voice came out as a hiss, barely noticeable to the other men around them as Peter’s face, boyish and handsome, looked up at the larger man, “I am fighting for my right to a life, you came here for the same reason”. To which Alister has no argument, looking at his face with worry before continuing with him, though keeping close.
The protest continued unchecked and grew for a few hours more, with Alister and Peter starting to go with the crowd, yelling and chanting back up at the local law enforcement. His emotions were flaring at the idea of them stealing from him, working him to the bone for nothing in return, growing more and more outraged.
First strike was quick, with the crowd getting rowdy and pushing forward, with a few of the pickets forced up the steps, to which the sheriffs acted fast and grabbed them and began to beat them with their black jacks, the first two men grabbed and beaten down to non-resistance. Alister, seeing the other law enforcement agents starting to come out of the woodwork, tempers flared and pulled his revolver out and cocked it, aiming it at the man with the black jack raised, though he hears a distant voice. His eyes looked down, at Peter, eyeing his face, the smaller man trying to pull his arm, hands gripping the cloth and pulling with all his might.
His hand was in pain, it was bloody. Fingers flexing in, still feeling them, around the blood mess that is his palm. His quick to form lover quickly grabs his large stocky arms, pulling it down and Alister letting it. They begin to run. The loud explosion of the handgun quickly riled up the law enforcement and private security, moving into the crowd and a fight breaking out. Sheriffs and security are beating and trying to disperse the crowd of union members quickly, with Peter and Alister running off down an alleyway to hide behind a local store.
They didn’t hear the footsteps following them.
Standing behind the shop, Peter looks at Alister’s hand, “…should’ve been blown off”, the ringing in Alister’s head going strong but coming down from the high. “Yea, well, got lucky I guess, sihhh!” was all Alister can muster as Peter wraps some cloth around the still bleeding hand, though it bleeding less and less as time goes on, quicker then Peter ever saw before.
“Well, what’s this? You love birds going somewhere?” A few men had followed the large man who started the riot with the gun exploding, a few of the men having blackjacks and other forms of melee weapons. Filling out the area behind the shop, keeping it tight and controlled. They obviously were hired men on the job, feeling the love between the young men, knowing what’s going on in the quick exchange.
The fight was fast, Peter wasn’t sure what was happening at first, with Alister moving in front of him before the men could act. The first man was thrown up toward the second story of a general store, thrown through the wood wall, while the others got into a brawl. He pushed another away, falling down into the mud and sliding away, while the second man managed to hit him in the head with a club, it would bring down anyone else, but he kept going. His fist kept finding their ways home, lifting people off their feet with the force and cracking ribs. The fight was over quickly and before it even began.
The men, after he beat off the first wave, eventually managed to drag him to the ground and beat him unconscious, his skull cracked and busted open, Peter running away and managing to hide from the group of law enforcement. Soon enough, as the riot was busted and thrown out into the buildings and roads, Alister was quickly dragged through the streets, healing quickly, faster than normal, and thrown in front of a judge.
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The Cacique between his legs, a local influential political leader to the natives, and being worked hard by Alister. Juan, as the Spanish have previously called him, though not his original name, was moaning and whimpering, mewing his pleasures and how well he is being done. Alister was twenty now, he was a bigger man, a man who could fold Juan like a pretzel and genuinely hurt him, but he doesn’t. His knees were pushed under Juan’s hips, his shaft working itself deeper and deeper, moving in and touching the spongy core. “Open, open”, Alister was murmuring as he pulled the smaller man off his pelvis and back onto it. Soon enough, as Alister leans down to kiss Juan on the lips and go into a kiss, Juan and Alister moan into a mutual shoot off, with Juan shooting off onto Alister’s marine tightened stomach, and Alister shooting off deep into Juan.
Eventually, they decoupled, with Juan laying on the bed and recovering while Alister stood up and went to the small balcony that filled their stuffy, secreted away apartment in Havana, Cuba. His hand pulled a pre rolled cigarette to his mouth, lighting it with a match before tossing it to the street. His naked, muscled form front lit from the sun while he watches the morning rush
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