A gay sex stories: Dave Rides the Rails It was near the end of my freshman year in 1970 and I had just gotten a B- on a term paper in Poli Sci. Being an avowed procrastinator, I had waited until the last minute before it was due and then pulled an all-nighter so I was fairly pleased with my grade. Nonetheless, below the B- the Professor had written those dreaded words: See me.
I can’t say my first year of college had been a success. I’d sure as hell drunk a lot of beer, smoked a lot of grass, and gotten down with more than a few hippie chicks on campus but I was only skating through my classes. I was uninspired, adrift, and wasting both time and money.
My problem was that things came too easy for me. Small town High School had been a breeze. As long as I stayed away from Calculus and Chemistry, I barely had to study at all. I was also gifted with natural athleticism, a combination of strength and speed. I made first string defensive end on the football team and was a solid sixth man in basketball. Still, the only real skill I had developed that would translate to college was drinking beer, smoking pot and chasing girls. That’s where my true motivations lay.
I showed up at my Professor’s door the next afternoon. He pointed to a chair for me to sit in and just stared at me for a solid ten seconds as I squirmed.
“What’s your draft number?”
What? Those were the first words out of his mouth? I had assumed he wanted to talk about my paper’s thesis regarding the Federalist Papers, not this.
“217,” I replied.
“So there’s no chance of you winding up in the jungles of Vietnam?”
I was shocked by the nature of his question. “Not unless I do something stupid like enlist.”
“From the evidence before me, you are exactly that stupid.”
Now that comment was uncalled for and it pissed me off. “With all due respect, Dr. Morrison, what the fuck?”
“No need to get angry. I’m doing you a favor by being honest.”
“Well, pardon me if I don’t say thanks. So were you doing me a favor by giving me a B- on my term paper?”
“No. Your paper absolutely deserved that grade. But I recognize a don’t-give-a-shit, half-assed effort when I see it.”
“Are you allowed to speak to me like this?”
“Report me to the Dean for all I care.” He wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t care. “I listen to your comments in class. In discussion, your analysis is solid, your points are cogent, your argument is grounded in logic, yet your exams are piss poor. And now this? I get a B- paper from a mind that should be doing A+ work.”
As angry as I was, I could see he had a point.
He continued, “When I look at you I see a man/child who is not ready for college. An adolescent who is not mature enough to take advantage of his opportunities. I’m just being honest. I figure you have two choices.”
“Okay. What are they?”
“Report me to the Dean or grow the fuck up.”
“I still don’t think you’re allowed to speak to me this way.”
“Take a year off. Or two. Work some hard jobs, maybe even shitty jobs. Try to have the life you want on the paycheck you get. When you figure out you’re capable of so much better, come back. The University will still be here.”
There was a knock on his open door. A student stood there with term paper in hand. By the embarrassed look on his face he had obviously overheard. “Excuse me, Dr. Morrison, I was wanting to talk about the C I got. I can come back.”
Dr. Morrison’s voice shifted to a kindly avuncular tone. “No, come on in. I’m done with this student.”
Before I could get out the door he added in a voice dripping with condescension, “David, I sincerely hope I do not see you on campus next year.”
As I crept down the corridor, I heard his sympathetic voice return. “Oh yes, I remember your paper. You make some good points but your reasoning could have been stronger …”
I didn’t go back to school the next year. After my last final I went home and had a long talk with my parents. It was the hardest talk I had ever had with them but we all agreed I should take time off and get my shit together. Mom shed some tears. I think Dad sent Dr. Morrison a thank you note.
My cousin John had graduated with his MBA the year before and had started working in the accounting department of the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad. He called to say that the labor union and management were at loggerheads over a new contract.
“It’s not officially a strike but some of the hardline unionists have walked out. I could get you a job as a brakeman in the huge Proviso Freight Yard in Chicago.”
“Thanks, John, but I don’t think I wanna be a scab.”
“You wouldn’t be a scab because it’s not a strike. Most of the guys are continuing to work and everyone accepts that non-union workers are going to have to fill in for the hardliners. No hard feelings. But when they settle or decide to actually go on strike, you’ll be out of work. Until then, the pay is good and I’ve got an extra room.”
So that’s how I became a railroad brakeman.
I started out working the board, meaning I was on call 24/7 to fill in wherever I was needed. Definitely chum in the food chain. I’d just fall asleep and the phone would ring. Then I had one hour to get wherever and do whatever.
And Proviso could be a dangerous place to work. It was a vast matrix of tracks, hundreds upon hundreds of tracks packed so tightly there was barely enough room to walk between. Rail cars were smashing together all around. You got from one place to another by climbing between cars that could suddenly jolt half a car length. At night it was dark and treacherous. When it rained it was slick steel and crushing wheels. And there were rats the size of bobcats, fat from spilled grain, that were mean and would hiss like rattlesnakes. My first night in the yard I came across a rat that had been sliced in two by a train car that lurched faster than he could leap. I looked at his squashed guts beneath my boots and realized that could be me.
My illusions of making the Windy City scene with my cousin were dashed. I was a cog in a machine that used me up and ground me down. A twenty year old, hormone-laden cog. I barely had time to eat, jerk-off and get a few hours sleep before the phone would ring again. Every weekend my cousin would come home with a new chick, light up some killer weed, put some vinyl on his McIntosh stereo (best time ever for rock music) and ball her right outside my door. I could only dream of having his life.
After six weeks of working the board, I got a relatively steady gig spotting rail cars in the industrial parks around O’Hare airport. We’d go from one factory to the next, remove the loaded box cars and leave some empty ones. It was busy work. A lot of switching tracks, setting brakes, linking hoses, and breaking knuckles (train knuckles not human ones). But the hours went quickly and I finally had a steady gig.
It was a crew of three. The engineer was a disembodied voice on the radio at least forty boxcars away. Paired with me in the caboose was Ernie. He was a short, nimble guy with a twitchy, kinetic vibe. I imagined he could scurry up a tree like a squirrel. Instead, he had been climbing boxcar ladders and scurrying between railcars for thirty years, always with a Marlboro dangling from his lips. He trained me right. Safety first. Which cars to switch and where. And most of all, how to make a hard job easy.
Mid-way through each night, we would move to another industrial park on the other side of O’Hare. It’s a huge airport and the slow trip around it took over forty minutes. The two of us would sit on the cushioned benches across from each other in the dimly lit caboose as it swayed and clanked over the rails. Ernie would converse with the same staccato energy that he worked, always eager, always smiling.
He was very interested in college life. He would ask if the chicks were as loose as they said on TV. Is it true they don’t shave their legs or their pits? Do they all go braless? Do they ever go topless? His eyes got wide with a leering smile when he asked, “Do you get a lot of pussy? I bet you do. You get a lot of pussy, don’t you?”
He was sitting on the same side of the caboose as me so we didn’t have to yell over the clattering of the wheels. “We don’t really call it pussy.”
“They do in the movies and on the news. I mean they cut out the word on TV but you can tell that they’re saying pussy.”
“Well, yeah, when they’re making a point. When they’re talking about feminism stuff. About taking control of their bodies, their sexuality. Well, even sometimes when they’re just talking but … Well, I guess they say it differently than you, that’s all.”
“I guess I don’t get all that feminism stuff.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
The next night he was sitting closer. It felt kind of weird but I let it slide. Very quickly in the conversation he asked. “Have you ever fooled around with a guy?”
“Uh no, Ernie, I haven’t. I mean, it’s all cool but that’s not my thing.”
“But you’ve never tried it?”
“No.”
“So you don’t really know.”
“It’s not my thing.”
“You should try it.”
The conversation took a long pause as we rocked over the rails and there was creepy tension. Finally Earnie asked, “Would you get mad if someone wanted to play with you?”
Without a word I got up and moved to the opposite bench. I stared out the window, watching the airport passing by. The runway lights were red and green, kind of christmassy.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, Ernie. I’m not mad”
That night was the end of our work week. I was glad to get away from the weirdness with Ernie. I really liked the guy but I wasn’t into him or that. I ate dinner as my cousin slept late on his Saturday morning off. Then I smoked a little of his pot before crashing. My plan was to sleep until the night life started rocking then tear up the town with John. I was determined to get laid.
A few hours later the phone rang. “No,” I was emphatically informed. “you’re still working the board. You’ve got one hour.” Figuratively speaking, my hopes for sexual release skipped town on a southbound train. More work then all too soon it was time to go back on the O’Hare industrial run.
Ernie was glad to see me. We were riding on the back of the caboose switching cars when he asked, “How was your weekend? Did you get laid?”
“I got called to work a derailment outside Palatine.”
“Fuck. Those are usually long hours.”
“Yeah. Seventeen hours on four hours sleep.”
“That sucks. But the overtime’s good.”
“Not as good as sleep and a personal life.”
“So you didn’t get laid?”
“No, Ernie. I did not get laid.”
When it came time to make the long run around the airport, Ernie plopped down beside me. “I caught a night game at Wrigley Field. Cheap seats and expensive beer. Cubbies lost.”
“I envy you.”
“Yeah, but neither of us got laid. I don’t expect it at my age, but you? A young guy like you? Good looking. All full of testosterone. You must be so horny you’re about to bust.”
Boy, was I ever. “I’ve got a world class case of blue balls.”
Ernie’s hand found the nerves where my thigh meets my groin. His touch was light and tentative. “Are you sure you’d be mad if someone wants to play with you?”
We were swaying with the clatter of the rails. His touch was so enticing. It had been so long since anyone had touched me. Ernie continued, “I bet you’d like it.”
I dared to glance his way. His eyes were locked on the swelling in of my jeans. His fingers played a siren song atop that tender spot. A heard myself softly moan.
“It’s fun. And we’ve got time to kill.”
It felt like the two of us were cloaked within a carnal shroud, hidden from judgment, where all human urges were innocent and all animal impulses allowed. My resolve suddenly burst like a levee and I ripped open the buttons of my Levys then reached into my jockey shorts and wrangled out my stiffening cock. I heard him gasp at my sudden surrender and his hand found my flesh with a gentle caress. His fingers skated up and down my shaft before teasing the plump tissue of my crown. I threw my head back with a lusty groan. My surrender was total.
“Oh my god. You’ve got a beautiful dick. I knew you would.” His fingers danced over every secret place. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
My eyes were closed and I was seeing auroras of pleasure play out behind my lids. His touch was deft and knowing and sensuous. My voice was trembling. “No. You’re not hurting me.”
His hand wrapped around my shaft and mimicked the motion of the train as he began to jerk me off. “Dave, you’ve got such a nice dick. So big and thick. It’s a beaut.”
Long strokes, firm around the base, gentle atop the head. His fingers rode up and down the shaft as if he was milking the nectar from a honeysuckle rose, urging my release. “You’re so hard. And hot. I can feel heat coming off your swollen dick.”
It had been so long. I was moaning and hunching with each stroke. A delirious pressure was building inside.
“You’re getting close already, aren’t you. I can feel your dick straining. Shoot for me, Dave. Let your cum fly.” His touch got deeper. “I can tell your dick wants to.” My erection swelled beneath his touch. “Come on, Dave. Shoot for me.” I was reeling and straining against the rising tide. “Don’t hold back. Shoot it. Shoot it, Dave.”
I opened my eyes and erupted with a groan as a thick cord of splooge launched from my cock and arced through the air. I spasmed ecstatically as spurt after spurt of cum shot out until the last drop dribbled out of me into Ernie’s cupped hand.
“Boy, Dave, you really needed that, didn’t you? Did you like it?” I was breathless and couldn’t answer. “I can tell you did. It was fun, wasn’t it? I knew you’d like it.” I was shocked when he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked up my cum. “God, you taste good.”
When Ernie had cleaned my cum off of his palm, he stood smiling at me. “That was fun. And tasty, too.” He rubbed his tented jeans. “Now if you’ll excuse me …” He walked out to the platform at the rear of the caboose where I know he jerked off. I appreciated that he spared me the sight that first time.
The next night started out normal. We just shot the shit as we went about our jobs. It was a busy night with lots of cars to switch out so I was ready for a break when we started the slow trip around O’Hare.
Ernie plopped down next to me. His hand was immediately on my junk, groping my swelling cock. “Do you wanna fool around now? It feels like you do.” Without waiting for a reply, he started pulling my jeans open. He struggled to free my cock because it was halfway hard. “You’ve got a great dick on you, Dave. I really like playing with it.”
My breathing was already heavy and fast. “I’m glad you do.”
“Do you really like it?”
“Absolutely! It’s pretty great the way you touch me.”
I watched this time. I saw he had several techniques. “Does this feel good?” he asked. “How about now? Do you like it when I do this?”
“Yes. And yes again. Yes to everything you do.”
He could barely tear his eyes away from my cock as he stroked and tickled and taunted it. There was a hunger in his eyes, a fever. I could tell that the sight of my cock unleashed something feral in him. Suddenly, he pulled his fingers away.
“I’ve got to pull out my dick, too. You don’t mind do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m not as big as you.” He smiled at me as he struggled with his pants. “But I think my dick has character.” He giggled self-consciously. “Personality.”
There it was. It was about five inches long, nicely proportioned, with a slender cockhead. I had never seen another man’s hard-on before. Dangling dicks in the showers, sure. But never a tumescent member. I felt something feral within myself.
With his left hand he played with himself but his real attention was on my larger, thicker cock in his right hand. My fingers found their way to his hair as he luxuriated his fingertips up and down and around my throbbing hardness. My excitement mounted. I had better control than the first time but his touch was just so damn enticing. My fingers left his hair. I clutched his shoulder and pulled him tight as I tensed.
“Oh, come on, Dave. Let me see you shoot. Shoot for me, Dave.”
Every cell in my body yearned to explode. Every cell strained to hold back longer. Then as my cock erupted, I almost lifted off the bench. Rope after rope of cum shot out. Ernie quit playing with himself to catch what he could.
“Damn you came even harder tonight,” he said as he slurped my splooge from his hand. “Halfway across the floor.” He pulled out a pocketknife and notched the floor where my farthest drop landed. “That gives us something to shoot for.”
Then he sat back on the bench and started jerking himself off in earnest. It didn’t take long before he came. It was more of a dribble than a shoot but his joy and relief was evident. After a minute he gathered his breath.
“I really like playing with you. It’s fun.”
“It’s fun for me, too, Ernie. I never imagined I’d enjoy it, but I do.”
He smiled at me and began moving in for a kiss. I recoiled and he looked down in embarrassment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“It’s okay, Ernie. It’s just not my thing.”
The next night as we made the slow trip, he was jerking himself while playing with my proud cock when he blurted “No. I can’t just …” He looked up to me with pleading, lust crazed eyes. Then he sank to the floor between my knees, “I have to, I’ve got to …”
Remember, this was in the midst of the sexual revolution. Women were proclaiming to the world that they sucked cock. They were bragging about it. And more than a few women had sucked my cock, but none like Ernie. On their best day, they had never come close to what Ernie did to me that night while the caboose rocked and the rails clacked. None of their tongues or lips had been so soft and urgent, none of their throats so yearning for my seed. I swooned as he sucked. I trembled as he took me up and down. I craned against my own restraint and ultimately exploded in his mouth, gasping. As I tried to recover he continued to suck the last drops of cum from my cock while ravaging his own dick, then shooting his load at my feet.
“Man oh man, Dave, you’ve got a great dick. I love sucking it. Can you believe they pay us for this?”
“Go union.”
Our little interludes had become the highpoint of my days. My thoughts of the girls I’d known on campus faded. It’s not like I dreamed of Ernie. I didn’t. I wasn’t attracted to the 54 year old little bandy guy who smelled like an ashtray. But damnation could he suck a cock. That morning (my night) before I fell asleep I jerked off recalling the marvelous sensation of Ernie’s mouth upon my manhood. I came with Ernie on my mind.
The next night he took his time. I watched him stroke his cock as he played with mine. With the swipe of a finger he gathered his precum, then he mixed it with my precum and raised his finger to his mouth. With a devilish grin he said, “We taste good together.” Then he slid to the floor and assumed his position between my knees.
It was a slow blow job. He luxuriated at various points as if tasting hundred year old wine. At each spot he was meticulous with his tongue and lips, applying different techniques in precise ways to elicit particular sensations that swept through my cock to my loins and up my spine. I sat with my head back and eyes closed in order to focus on every scintillation and tremor of delight. I got zen with every marvelous quivering of each glistening nerve.
Then he took me deep and sucked my shank from base to tip. His throat massaged my crown as his lips clenched my shaft before he drew his mouth upward. Again and again. His juicy mouth commanded my balls to unleash their essence. I clenched against the rising tide of cum that coursed upward from my loins. I resisted as long as my passion allowed. And then with a howl of release my cock gushed a torrent of jizz down his throat. My body curled over his bobbing head as he sucked and sucked, and I spurted and spurted every last drop of sperm I could muster.
Through the fog of rapture, I heard him say, “Wow, it just keeps getting better and better.”
I chuckled and managed to croak, “Yes. Yes it does.”
Again he tried to kiss me. Again I recoiled, this time fanning the air to dispel the miasma of stale Marlboro that enshrouded him. Ernie saw and became self-conscious. I smiled at him as kindly as I could. His discomfort eased but thereafter he started popping Certs breath mints between smokes. Somewhere, stock prices soared.
Ernie’s pleasuring of my cock became my calendar. I marked the days not as Tuesday or Thursday but as the day Ernie touched me this way or the day Ernie sucked my cock that way. It was on the last day of our calendar week that things stepped up a notch.
The caboose was rocking me into a revery. I watched Ernie jack his cock as he played with mine. He was at the point in his routine when he would begin the slow sink to his knees. A primal passion rose in me.
“It’s my turn,” I said as my head plunged into his lap. I felt the soft hardness of his cock between my lips. My tongue swaddled the plush tenderness of his crown and lapped at his leaking juices. I had no idea how to give him the pleasure that he gave to me. I was just careful with my teeth and tender with my lips and tongue. His cock fit easily into my mouth. I lavished myself upon it. Apparently I was doing something right because I could hear Ernie’s moans and recognized the lust in his throat as he called out my name. I felt proud when he quickly trembled and lurched and his cum filled my mouth. As much as I could, I savored it before swallowing. Ernie deserved that much. I discovered it wasn’t revolting. I took it in with gusto and afterwards licked my lips.
Ernie chuckled as he recovered. “You really got turned on, didn’t you, Dave? You really went to town on my dick. Do you like my dick, Dave?”
“Yeah, Ernie, I really like your dick. I like your taste, too.”
Ernie rewarded me by sucking my cock like a champ.
I didn’t get called in over our days off so I actually got some down time. Not that I could do anything. I still had to sit by the phone.
I thought a lot though. About the way Ernie tasted, the way his cock felt in my mouth. I didn’t feel gay. I didn’t feel like shouting down the avenue, “Look out men. Here I come.” I just felt like I’d had a new experience and it was exciting and fun. I felt strangely noble that I had reciprocated the giving of pleasure. Ernie and I were in a weird, new place, no doubt. And it was especially titillating to be engaging in sexual acts in the workplace. Not that we were inflicting ourselves on anyone’s delicate eyes or hazarding discovery. No one was hurt by what we did on the slow ride around the airport. It just felt good.
We started swapping blow jobs during our down time of the night. I started paying attention to Ernie’s technique and emulating it. We tried to 69 but the only spot in the caboose that afforded enough space was the floor. We quickly discovered that the percussive clatter of the wheels while laying on oak planks was like being pummeled by a Louisville Slugger.
We also discovered that timing was crucial. One night Ernie gave me slow building blow job that culminated in a massive climax from my cock. I tried to replicate the experience for Ernie only to have us arrive at the first switch of the next industrial park before he had cum. I quickly hopped off the caboose and threw the switch while Ernie composed himself. We spent the next several hours hopping on and off railcars, doing our job with Ernie in the agony of fellatio interruptus. Finally there was enough time for me to drop to my knees and finish him off. It was fast and sloppy but I made sure the happy ending was worth it for Ernie.
Then the next night, I was the first in line for fellatio when Ernie abruptly pulled his exquisite mouth off my cock.
“You can fuck me if you let me fuck you too.”
My euphoria-drenched brain ground its gears while shifting from delirious hedonism to the rational world. “You thrusting your cock up my ass? Nope. That’s not my thing.”
Ernie went back to performing a magic act on my phallus. Then, “You’ve said that before.”
I roused quickly this time. “What?”
“You’ve said before that something wasn’t your thing, then you tried it and found out it was your thing.”
With my hands in his hair, I urged his lips back to my cock. “This is different. Now let’s just stay focused.”
The rest of the night he took every opportunity to revive the issue.
“Have you ever tried it?”
“You know I haven’t Ernie.”
“Then how do you know?”
“The notion seems entirely unappealing to me. Blow jobs I understand. Butt-fucking I don’t”
“It’s better than pussy. I know. I was married for three years. And I was perfectly happy with our sex life until I had anal with a guy. I ain’t never looked back.”
“You didn’t tell me you cheated on your wife.”
“I don’t consider what I did cheating. I was discovering my true self. I would have been cheating myself not to try it.” The look in his eye reflected an anticipation of rapture, conveying the forbidden pleasure he yearned for. “You’re cheating yourself, too.”
He let that sink in. “Man oh man, Dave. It’s so good.”
I deflected, “I’ve got a switch to throw. Let’s just drop it.”
The next night Ernie brought a magazine filled with pictures of men having sex in myriad ways including anal intercourse. Porn was different back then. It was sketchy, not entirely legal, and even the best of it had a sleazy look to it. All the more for gay porn.
“Look,” Ernie said, “These guys are really into it.”
I leafed through it quickly. We didn’t have much time before we got to our first switch.
“It looks like one of them is enjoying the experience and it ain’t the guy with the dick up his ass.”
“No, he’s loving it. I promise. Look he’s moaning ah, ah, ah.”
“Looks to me like he’s saying ow, ow, ow, get that cock out of there.”
“Just take the magazine home over the weekend and think about it. Just look at how much they’re getting off.”
“I won’t get in trouble having this in my possession, will I?”
“Naw. Just don’t cross a state line.” We both broke out laughing over that. When we settled down, Ernie said, “No really. Don’t take it across a state line.”
I did take it home and promptly stuffed it among my personal things away from my cousin’s eyes.
A call to dispatch clarified my status. I was now high enough on the totem pole that I probably wouldn’t be called in for a shift. Probably. I still had to stay by the phone. That meant no night life. No trying to get laid.
That was fine by me. I had sleep to catch up on, and books, and thoughts. Lots and lots of thoughts. While my cousin headed out into the Saturday Night Windy City scene I was just having breakfast and beginning my nocturnal day. He had a night ahead of him filled with live bands, drinks, pot and chicks. I had with a long night ahead all to myself and my imagination. And a phone that hopefully wouldn’t ring.
It occurred to me was that I wasn’t crazy horney. Ernie was seeing to it that my balls got drained every day. In fact, I was having sex on a more regular basis than ever before. An extremely regular basis. You could set your clock by it.
But it was different sex. With a guy. Before Ernie, I hadn’t even imagined that I would be getting off with a guy. Not that I had shattered some barrier into another dimension. It wasn’t like that. It seemed more like I had been introduced, albeit with some reluctance, to a new way of experiencing sexuality. And humanity. Gradually, I was exploring new ways and manners and techniques of satisfying myself and another, of sharing pleasure. Ernie had been slowly and steadily opening doors for me to realize the breadth of my human experience as well as his.
I had been seduced. Goddammit, the little fucker had seduced me.
And it had mirrored a natural adolescent progression. First, masturbatory experimentation. Then, oral gratification. And now the little fucker was trying to deflower me, to pop my cherry. The sly, weaselly little bastard.
I pulled out the magazine. I looked at it and read what there was to read in it. Six months before, I would a viewed the photos as abhorrent even though I have never been a judgmental person. It’s all cool, was my innate viewpoint. But to American society in 1970, homosexuality was not only verboten, it was deviant. Not that I personally saw things through a lens tinted with stigma and puritanical condemnation. I was literally a child of the Sixties. I viewed decadence as a proper healthy pursuit. Still, pictures such as these were seedy at best. At worst, don’t cross state lines with them.
But once they lost their shock value, I viewed them differently. After all, I had had Ernie’s cock in my mouth a dozen times. I had felt it with my fingers. I had tasted it upon my tongue. I had explored it. I knew the tender spots that thrilled him. I was learning how to tantalize his cock through a sustained thrum of rapture then incite it into a wanton eruption of ecstasy. I had held it and admired it and appreciated its beauty.
This magazine wasn’t artful. It didn’t portray the beauty of love-making. The pictures were crude depictions of brutish sex. They were raw, almost guttural snapshots of men sucking and fucking each other in the most rampant postures with the sole purpose of spewing cum. They were primitive. And man did they make my cock hard.
I flipped through the pages, leering over one photo after another, imagining the sensation and the visceral roaring compulsion in each one. I was cranking away on my cock all along. And finally, with the photo of one sweaty guy buried balls deep in the ass of another, each of them grimacing in a strenuous moment of abandon, I shot a stream of jizz through the air and onto the very image. More and more cum splattered the glossy page and a stain spread. I came and came. The magazine dripped with my splooge.
As I gathered my breath, I heard the front door open. Outside my closed room, my cousin was bringing home a chick and they were both higher than a kite. I waited until I heard the stereo crank up before making my way to the bathroom, giving them a quick wave along the way.
I took a piss and threw cold water on my face. The mirror revealed a man I recognized as me and I spent a minute with my reflection. It was the basically the same as a week ago, or a month ago, or a year. All the changes were on the inside.
My cousin called for me to join them. We smoked a joint and drank some beer. I put the Cream album on the stereo. Man, what a great album. And the music played through that McIntosh tube amp the way rock was meant to be heard. His chick had long auburn hair. She was stunning without a trace of makeup. Her breasts swung freely, outlined beneath her peasant blouse. She was voluptuous and sensual and inviting. I lusted for her. Kudos, cuz.
I bid them goodnight and retreated to my room. It wasn’t long before I was serenaded by the sounds of them balling.
My efforts to clean up the magazine were not entirely successful. An apology would be required upon returning it to Ernie. I looked at more pictures as my cousin’s chick was making sweet, sweet sounds through the wall.
I was once again aroused thanks to my youthful, virile cock. I wished I was the one balling her in the next room. I wished I was the one balling that guy’s firm hot ass in the magazine. I really, really wanted to fuck.
I’d had my fair share of sex with many, many women. Yet not once had I had the urge for one of those women to strap on a fake cock and fuck me. Believe me, I’d known a lot of kinky women who were into a shocking variety of things, yet not once had the prospect of me being the one getting fucked been suggested. If it had, even by most far-out, banging hot chick, I wouldn’t have been down with it.
But both the magazine and Ernie’s insistence had convinced me that there was pleasure to be had by a cock up a man’s ass. As I looked at more pictures and listened to more sounds through the wall, I jerked off, devoutly wishing I was fucking that guy or that chick. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to fuck someone. Anyone. Her. Ernie. Anyone.
The next work night, I sheepishly handed the magazine to Ernie. “Sorry about the cum stains.”
“So you liked it? You must have, right?”
“The evidence is right there on the page. Yeah, I think I get it. I’d really like to try it with you.”
“Man, that’s so great ’cause I really want to fuck you.”
“Okay, there’s the rub. I still don’t think I’m down with being the fuckee, only the fucker.”
“No. That’s not fair. Come on, Dave, you can’t imagine how much I want to fuck you. I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone as much as I want to fuck you.”
“Well I’m flattered. But what would be unfair is if I weren’t up front with you. That’s not gonna happen.”
Later, Ernie was pouting as we made the long slow trek to the other industrial park. He sat in sexual exile on the bench across from me, obviously not wanting to partake in our usual dalliance.
“Don’t be like this, Ernie.” I got on my knees and did a kittenish crawl across the hard wooden floor. I urged his knees apart and stroked his inner thighs. In a campy voice I teased, “Please, Ernie, let me suck your dick. I want to suck it. I need to suck it.” My eyes pleaded with his. “Please, please let me suck it.”
He tried to remain stern but suddenly burst out laughing and was already hard as I opened his pants. I gave him a makeup blow job that surpassed my best efforts up to that point and he came harder than ever. I slurped up every last drop. He reciprocated with exuberance. I stroked his hair as his lips played with the pillowy flesh of my crown and said, “What you’ve taught me about sex has made me very happy.”
He pulled his lips from my cock and smiled up at me. “It’s made me very happy, too.”
He rose from his knees with pursed lips. I averted my face but pulled him into a deep hug. His lips found my nape and I let out a sigh before gently urging him back to my throbbing, slick cock.
The remainder of our shift was busy. Ernie stuck close to my side whenever the opportunity arose. After the last switch had been thrown, we sat in the dark caboose with my arm cradling his shoulders. As always, the engineer was like a draft horse smelling the barn, racing the cars on Interstate-90 back to Proviso. After uncoupling, Ernie stayed by my side on the walk to our cars.
“I really like you, Dave.”
“Cool. We have developed an interesting friendship.”
“A special relationship, I’d say.”
“Okay. Cool. See you tomorrow, Ernie.”
“You mean you’ll see me tonight, Dave.”
“Yeah, right. Okay, cool.”
The next shift Ernie didn’t bother playing with my cock at all. He was on his knees in a flash, rampantly sucking on my cock with an unusually juicy mouth. I was loving it when he pulled off.
“I want you to fuck me tonight, Dave.”
“Really? Okay great.”
He went back to working my cock with a ravenous hunger as he somehow shed his boots. When he had me teetering on the highest peak of carnality, he handed me a tube telling me to rub it all over my cock as he half rose and kicked off his jeans. Then he lay back on the cushioned bench and raised his knees to his chest.
“Get it good and slick. That makes it much better.”
“Right,” I gasped. “We’re gonna do it like this? You on your back?”
“Yeah. Missionary is best for a first time.”
I knelt on the cushion. He reached around and positioned my cock. “Just push in real slow till you’re all the way in and then give me a minute to stretch out.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you, am I?”
“No. I fuck myself with a dildo every day.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I leaned into Ernie once and then again to no avail. I was about to ask if I was doing it wrong when my cockhead burst past his sphincter. Ernie gasped. So did I as I paused there, uncertain about the clench around my manhood. I pushed slowly forward feeling a firm, warm sheath engulf me, resist me, yet acquiesce to the urgent, engrossing need that engulfed Ernie and I. Slowly, I penetrated deeper. The tightness seemed to entrap my cock, suck it deeper like quicksand. The tightness drove the breath from my chest and when I was in to the hilt, Ernie’s voice sounded from far away, entreating me. “Give me a second,” he moaned. “Good God, you’ve got a dick on you.”
Part of me was concerned I might be hurting him. Part of me didn’t care. The clench of his ass was exquisite. My cock made demands that my restraint couldn’t bridle. “I can’t.”
He gasped in protest as I slowly withdrew and then hunched deeper into the irresistible allure of his ass. “Oh yeah. Oh, yeah. Fuck me now.”
I hunched him slowly and deeply. As he loosened, my need became more urgent. The music of his moans and grunts suggested the heat of his passion was rising, too. Abandon overcame me. With one arm braced across the window sill, the other on the cushion beside Ernie’s chest, my manhood withdrew only to penetrate again with a will all its own. My consciousness collapsed into my cock. I breathed for my cock. My heart beat for my cock. My mind was focused only on my cock and the wonderful, engulfing sensations that washed over me.
I looked down. Ernie’s eyes burned into mine as he gripped with his core in concert to my thrusts. His face was flushed and his breath was hot. His hand clutched the back of my neck and pulled me down to his mouth. His tongue lashed at my lips. My tongue sprung from my mouth to meet his. We kissed deep and long, fueling the heat of our loins. I felt my passion rising and with one last great thrust I spewed my seed deeply within the catacombs of Ernie’s delicious ass.
Then I collapsed. Ernie clutched me to himself with legs and arms encircling me and lips leaving traces of kisses atop my neck. My sense of the world slowly returned and my breath calmed.
“Holy fuck, Ernie.” I managed to rise to my elbows and look down at him. There was grace in his eyes, fulfillment. I kissed him softly, deeply. “Give me a minute to recover and I’ll finish you off.”
He whispered, “You already did.”
“What?” Then I realized the pool of splooge pressed between us.
“I came before you did. You fucked the cum right out of me. You and that amazing dick of yours.”
He pulled me in for another kiss. I kissed him back.
Ernie didn’t mention his desire to fuck me ever again. We had found our natural roles and we were both fine with it. He continued teaching me about manly love. He bent over the caboose desk for me. He rode reverse cowboy with his shoulders pressed against my chest as I reached around and jerked him off. He laid flat on the desk with one leg around my waist, the other thrown over my shoulder. He lied face down against the cushion as I pounded his ass, pinning his smaller body to the vinyl. If he didn’t finish as I fucked him, I would gladly finish him with my mouth. It was heavenly but Ernie’s favorite position was missionary so we could lock eyes and kiss deeply as he made a mess between us and I buried my jizz in this core.
Whenever he stood close I took to cupping his ass and I missed the voluptuous mound of it over our days off. When we were in the shadows of the industrial parks, we would often kiss. We laughed and talked and fucked like bunnies on the long, slow trips from one industrial park to the next.
After two weeks of this, the Station Master stopped us as we were boarding at the start of our shift. He handed Ernie and the Engineer thick envelopes.
“Negotiations have concluded, guys,” he said. “Here’s the offer. The union reps want us to take it but it’s up to the rank and file to ratify or not. Look it over. Talk about it. But I need your votes tomorrow night.”
That night, Ernie sucked my cock for a long time then I fucked him hard and fast. We both knew it was either a new contract or a strike. Either way, our time would soon be over.
“Dave, you know you could come live at my place.”
“I don’t know about that, Ernie.”
“You can fuck me all you want. I’ll make you happy. I promise. Every day I’ll put a smile on your face.”
“I don’t know, Ernie.” He was kissing on my neck and rubbing my cock through my jeans. He could feel me respond to his touch. “Truth is,” I confessed, “I’ve been talking to a friend out in Colorado. He’s framing houses up in Aspen. I’m thinking of going out there.”
“You don’t want to do that, Dave. I got a friend that I fuck every now and then. I told him about you. He wants your dick, too. You could fuck us both. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“It would but …”
“And we could both fuck him. Or you could fuck him while he sucks my dick. That sounds fun, right? It’s called spit-roasting. It would be so much fun. I promise I’ll make you happy.”
“Ernie …”
“Dave, I love you. I’m in love with you, Dave.”
Words I had hoped to never hear but always expected. Still they left me speechless. He watched me stammer and I saw his heart start to crumble. “We got a switch coming up,” he managed to croak. “I’ll get it.”
I watched him drop to the ground and jog ahead. Once he threw the switch he stood waiting for the caboose to reach him then swung on the ladder with the practiced grace of three decades of experience. We probably exchanged thirty words the remainder of the shift.
I dreaded the next night. I had so many feelings for Ernie. Love wasn’t one of them. But I had felt it rising in him. I knew as certainly as the sun rose at the end of our workday that love was kindling in Ernie’s heart. I knew when it had become fully ablaze. I ignored that awareness, letting us be carried by the mounting current of our sexual journey. We pleasured each other, always aware of the other’s need. I intended for him to feel the same exalting bliss that I felt. I swear I never meant to be cruel.
As we started out on our final shift, Ernie said, “I understand.”
“I hope you do but I’m afraid you’re just being kind.”
“No, I get it. You’re just doing a bit of growing up before going back to college.” It hurt to hear it so bluntly, especially from Ernie, but it was true. “I’m just some old fag …”
“You’re not a fag …”
“Yeah, I am. And old enough to be your father.”
“Older, actually.”
“That’s right. An old fag. Look, Dave, I can see you’re on a path to a great, new life. I don’t know what I was thinking. That you were going to fall in love with me? Give up everything because some old fag wanted you to have fag sex with him for the rest of his older life?”
“Stop referring to yourself as a fag. You’re a good man. A great guy. And you’ve given me so much, taught me so much about myself. More than any college professor ever will.”
“I wish that were true.”
“It is. And you’ve taught me what a good guy is. An honest and true-to-himself great guy.”
His smile was melancholy and he nodded appreciatively. “Thanks for saying that.”
“And now I want to kiss you.”
We didn’t fuck that night. During the long slow trek, I held him and we kissed and I cradled his cock in my hand. Just held it. It felt familiar and good.
We took in a night game at Wrigley Field before I left for Colorado. The Cubbies lost, of course. Afterwards we went to his house. For the first time we saw each other naked and laid in a bed and made proper love to each other.
When we were sated, he took me by the hand and we stood beside each other before the bathroom mirror. A twenty year old athletic young man and a fifty-four old guy in decline. “See,” Ernie said. “It’s obvious when you come right down to it.”
“It’s ironic, maybe. Bewildering and wonderful in contrast, which gives it beauty. Which makes it art.”
I pulled him tight as I kissed him. I cupped his voluptuous mounds of ass. Of course my cock arose once more. What was surprising was that his did as well.
I led him back to bed. I got his cock slick with spit and guided it to my ass.