A gay story: Hunting with Hunter Journal entry: July 5th, 1979
How has it come to this? I always thought I knew what I was capable of. And yet here I am planning this. Have I gone slightly mad and no one thought to tell me? Why have none of my friends clued me in? Freddie, Brian, Roger, John … where were you guys when this insanity began to take hold of me? Why did not one of you tell me this was too crazy?
Putting down my pen, I swallowed the last bite of my pimento cheese sandwich and looked at the blue ink on the crisp white page. It was the first time I’d acknowledged to myself that what I was doing was nuts. But yet … something had to be done! It cannot go on like this. I should be in a bed, my body sore, my mind content, emotionally happy and sexually sated, or almost. Curled up around some warm piece of male eye-candy, waiting for him to wake up and scratch the last itch I might have.
But no. No.
I was in this old building, putting high school woodshop skills to work designing furniture that hid secret hidden traps for holding a fully grown man against his will. Mantraps? I liked the sound of that. Mantraps to catch the whole damn lot of those cock teasing fucker!
“Oh, I’m not really gay; I just tell girls that I’m bi to be cool. It helps me get pussy. You understand right?”
Taking a deep breath, I wiped dried glue off my fingers and looked at my latest masterpiece. A very “chic” Queen Anne wingback chair, covered in a zebra print. With a smirk, I tripped the mechanism and watched the arms fold in like the jaws on a bear trap. Not as grisly as sharp metal teeth but much stronger. Powerful enough to hold even a strong man. Men like that collective group of lying bastards I’m going to have to make honest men out of. One by one.
I glanced over at the other completed pieces of furniture for my Jungle Room. The black leather sofa, that folds flat and has hidden straps to tie hands and feet to the legs. I can almost picture a man belly down on it, one of those lying bastards from the clubs, maybe his cock wedged in between the middle cushions as I mounted him. Took his man-cherry, despite protests. How wet with sex sweat that leather is going to get under him.
“Ummm…” I moaned, enjoying the slight erection that springs to life at the thought.
Folding up my journal, I tied the black leather thong on the cover and left it. I had so much work to get done. I still had to paint the room. Call the carpet men to come get the floor covered. Hang those wonderful leopard print velour drapes that will hide the rings and ropes mounted to the walls. So very much work to do. This “Man-trapping” wasn’t an easy job.
I shifted my hard-on in my 501s. But then, the effort of the hunt, was always half the fun.
Journal entry: July 29th, 1979
The room is finished. All the “lovely” things are in place. The cost of this little project has gone way past what I thought to spend. The rent on the old apartment building alone was a shock, but then in the whole of the city is there a single place more tailor-made to my needs? My Realtor, that lovely fellow Kenny, he thought I was the one in need of a “mad room” before he finally found one for me.
The century old building had been renovated in the late ’60s, or else this whole plan might have fallen to nothing but wet dream fantasies. The contractor he called asking for one knew a guy, who knew a guy that had worked on this building. Then, of course, when I asked the building’s owner to pull off a piece of the cheap wood paneling so I could see it, he had nearly refused me. But in the end he did it, probably because the check book was in my hand ready to give him the first years rent on the spot. Yeah … that had something to do with it I’m sure.
Six wonderfully thick inches of hundred year old cork wood. You could hold a Kiss concert in that room, complete with screaming, makeup-smeared fans and never hear a thing in the rest of the house. Perfect. Costly, yes. But simply perfect.
Scrunching my toes in the thick green shag carpets, I looked around the room with pride. Elvis would lounge happily in my “Jungle Room” feeling right at home. From the overuse of everything, to the incredible excess of appetite this one room was designed to draw in a man like no other before it. Comfort? Luxury? Sex? Oh, they seeped from the walls.
Now. Time for me to do the same.
I glanced over at the gold framed mirror, which covered most of one wall, and then approached it with my best “Hi there” walk. My “What you doing tonight?” smile. I slicked the dark brown mustache away from my overly full lips. Reaching into my pocket, I took out my sunglasses, those wonderful yellow-gold lensed, burnished-steel framed ones I had bought yesterday, with that hint of mirrored shine. Perfect. I frowned, in an unattractive way, at my hair though. I still missed my long dark locks. But then I didn’t come up with this style, I just own it like no other … clone … out there. I tucked my crisp white “wife-beater” T-shirt in to my skin-tight, sky-blue 501s a bit more, making it show off my shoulders better.
“Not bad bait, there Hunter. Not bad at all.” I licked my teeth feeling the recent cleaning still making them slick as precum. “Time to go put dinner ‘meat’ on the table.”
Laughing at the level of insanity I was quickly falling into, I left the trap behind me, springs all set. Ready for the prize to walk in and take a seat. I ran my fingers across the cover of my journal, as I put it away from the night, on my way out the building. Oh, just how many fun entries I will be adding to this over the next few week? Months? Who knows, maybe even years? I had no delusion of course. I was going to probably end up in jail before this little crusade was over. But it would have a good long run before the cuffs went on.
The odds were all in my favor.
How many “straights” were ever going to go to the police and say they were lured into a “bent” guy’s house and then sexually assaulted? No! Or that they had agreed “under duress’ to have sex with the gay guy? Right. The press would devour them if they got wind of it, and I would make sure the press did. My prey might as well wear a sign around their necks, “I had sex with a guy” for the rest of their lives and most of them would rather die first. Oh, I’m sure there will be serious repercussions; fallout is inevitable in any modern war after all, but the levels of fun that could be had between then and now make it more than worth it.
My new … to me anyway, red and black De Tomaso Pantera was in the lot next to the building, under the matching red-black car cover. I peeled it off and smiled at myself in that waxed hi-gloss shine. There was a lot about this whole scheme that bothered me but not this. I might not like my hair cut, might ponder my mental sanity, the ethics of what I was going to do, hell might even feel a tweak of conscience tugging at me. But the car? No, I loved the car. At five years old it was the newest ride I had ever owned and it had been in almost perfect condition when I got it. A single scratch hidden with red nail polish, and a new pair of floor mats and the thing might as well have been brand new.
Hopping in, I cranked the big V8, rolled the windows down and started nodding my head in time with Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water. Off in the distance were the bright lights, the big city. The “straight” nightclubs were calling to me.
Calling to me with whispers that told of exotic hungers for rare foods I had never known I had an appetite for. Time to sample some new fare. Time to hunt the dangerous prey. To seek them in the shadows of their nightclubs where they thought themselves the predators. Where they were themselves hunting, never knowing they were about to be trapped. Hunting for some woman, stupid enough, to buy their lines of bullshit. A sexy woman to take back to their lairs and molest all night long till she begged to be set free. Her body bruised and sore from their pounding cocks.
Well, after this night they would know what that felt like. Exactly to a “T” what that felt like. Shifting the red and black car into first, I tore out the parking lot with smoking tires. It was time to spring the trap.
Journal entry: July 27th, 1979 (just after midnight)
I did it! Oh, my god I did it. He’s up in the room even now. Tied up. Waiting. I had to leave him there to settle down. If not for the cork walls they would hear his yelling all the way back to the nightclub. I had to calm myself down as well. I’m shaking like a leaf.
Oh, it was perfect.
He was exactly what I had been looking for. Acting like he was the stud-king of the whole place. Telling all the girls that he like to “swing both ways” then, when a guy approached, he would shy off like the virgin ass he is. Oh, how sweet it was to hunt him through that crowded dance floor, following him to the bar and finally into the bathroom. When I then made my pass and he “confided in me” that he was just telling people he was Bi to “get pussy” I had grinned and told him I was doing the same thing.
And the fucker bought it!
He bought it lock, stock, and barrel. Then I told him about the party. The party I was setting up at my place. Just me and three girls, I had just met out on the dance floor and that if he was interested I could sure use some help. “Oh, the girls? I gave them my address. They are going to meet us there.”
And he bought it! Least ways till the chair arms slammed shut on him pinning him in place. Oh, god! The look on his face. More in a bit. After I’ve had my fun.
Leaving the journal, I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, hating how my hand was shaking. Calmly, Hunter. Calmly. Maybe a drink? Something to settle my nerves.
“No! No numbing yourself. This is the hunt. Simple adrenaline shakes are not to be feared but to be relished. The prey is trapped.” I took a pair of scissors out the kitchen junk drawer. “Nothing left but to skin him and enjoy the feast.”
Heading up to the Jungle Room, I stopped by the door and took a deep breath. I pushed away the thoughts that there was still time to back out of this. To just turn him loose and let him walk away, ego bruised but … no. No this kind of crap has to stop. There are dozens of them out there. Filthy cock-teasing bastards, taking on airs of being like us–to get them what they want–but not being willing to ease the ache they cause in other men. Men they’ve turned on with the silly bi games. How dare they! How fucking dare they! What next? If we let them get away with this here, what next?
I had to fight back the anger building in me. This was not the time for my rage over all the injustices out in San Francisco two months ago to surface. This was a hunt, and tonight was not a night of rage. No White Night Riot level rage … but the same passion must drive me. No, not rage, lust must hold this night in its cum slick hand.
Opening the door, I walked inside. Strutted.
“LET ME UP FROM HERE YOU FUCKER!
“Now, now no reason to use such language.” My words were a purr as lilting as I could make them. Let him sweat homophobe bullets. With a carefree saunter I approached him; him so completely trapped there in the very jaws of my plan. “Now, now Philip. None of that. This is going to be a night of fun. That’s what you wanted … to have some fun. Yes? To get fucked? To cum? Well, you’re going to do all of those things.” I snipped the scissors together in front of his eyes. “The only thing in question for tonight is whether you leave with your balls in the morning.”
Oh, the fear in his eyes then. Just like all of us … gay, bi, or straight … threaten the family jewels and you have our full attention. With a smile, I knelt down and began to cut my way up his pants legs, making sure to let the cold metal of the scissors touch his leg before they cut denim.
“Don’t worry about your clothes. You won’t need them anymore.” It took me all I had to look down and keep the smile off my face, to not burst out laughing at the look in his eyes. The terror there, in those steel gray eyes. His heart must be about to pound out his chest. This summer is not so long since the Summer of Sam. How easily fear can be spread.
“Tell me, Philip, when you put on these clothes last night. Styled your hair in the mirror, looked at yourself like you think you’re God’s gift to women, did you give one thought to the men like men? The men you were pretending to be the same as?” The cold metal slid past his knee. “Men that might not like that you are using our image to chase after women.” When the end of the scissors cut through the top of the thickly stitched waistband, I moved to his other pants leg and repeated the process up that leg. “See, even though we are gay, we are men the same as you. With all the same hungers for sex as yourself and for you to dress like this, to prance among us like you’re one of us. Well, if a mouse roars like a cat it cannot be the cat’s fault when it goes to investigate that sound and the mouse gets fucked by the cat … yes? It’s not the cat’s fault it was mistaken or do you disagree? Common mistakes like that can happen. Right?”
I stopped and moved the scissors till I knew they had to be touching the side of his cock through his underwear.
“But when a mouse dresses himself in cat skins, claws at the door and meows in the manner of his betters then that is no mistake. That is a mouse trying to be a cat … yes?” I cut through the last of his pants and taking both legs pulled them out from under him. I looked down at the white Fruit of the Loom underwear. “But see, there’s the problem. You’re not one of us. Anyone can see this room is filled with animal prints and you’re in basic white. How tacky! A total lack of understanding of style that no gay man would ever display. Philip, if you are going to play the part of a gay man you have to do more than just know your lines, you have to dress the role.” I pointed to his cock with the scissors. “And those are just wrong.”
I laid the cold metal against my cheek tapping my jaw line with my fingers. “Now … what shall we do about those?” I smiled at him “That was a question Philip.”
“Ah… ah… I … ah don’t know.”
“Well, thankfully I do know but first, you’re terribly overdressed still.” His shirt was simple cotton. I placed one edge of the scissors under it and pulled the shirt back on the blade letting it slice, blade like, sawing up till I was just under his neck. “Don’t move, Philip. Wouldn’t want to nick you with these. They are very sharp.”
When his shirt was gone, I left him there in the chair in just his underwear. Moving to the wall, I pulled two of my ropes free and moved them over to him. The premade loops on the end, I fastened over his trapped wrists. One by one. With a smile, I touched the foot pedal that freed him from the chair but compressed a button in my hand and set the truck-style winches to work at the same time. Even as he was struggling to get at me, they were pulling him backwards. I walked with him as they dragged him, struggling, across the room and then watched them pull his arms up over his head. I only took my finger off the button when his toes alone were left touching the floor.
“LET GO OF ME YOU FAGGOT!”
“Oh tisk, tisk such nasty words.” I slipped my scissors under the edge of his underwear and his eyes went very wide as cold metal touched his dick. “Don’t make me punish you, Philip. Now where were we? Oh yes, this dreadfully tacky underwear. Can’t be having that now. Can we? Style must be maintained by us gay guys … right Philip? We have a certain fashion image to keep. Can’t let a fake like you soil our good name. Gay men simply do not let singing dancing fruit sell us our underwear.” I had to laugh at that.
With two quick snips a piece of white cotton fell to the floor. No longer clothes, just a rag.
I didn’t try to hide my appreciation of him. I had chosen very well. He was a delicious piece of work. Muscled, but not too much. Tanned, with a crisp tan lined butt and crotch. His chest had sparse hair but the rest of him was all but bare. Except … “Philip, what is that? Were you smuggling a wookiee in your underwear for a reason? Philip! If you’re going to act like you are gay you have to at least know how to trim the shrubbery.” With a shake of my head, I walked to the oriental shoji screen hiding the small bathroom on the back wall. When I returned with a can of Barbasol and a razor he began to jerk and twist in the straps holding him by his wrists. “Now, now Philip. If you don’t hold still I might do you a serious injury. Hell, I would advise not even breathe too deeply; my hands have been a touch shaky tonight. What I might cut off, well … let’s just say we would both be sad.”
He froze except for his chest which was heaving. And as I sprayed a cupped handful of foam that panting grew. I smiled and gave him a wink.
“Don’t worry … I’ll respect you in the morning.”
Taking hold of his cock I ran my foam coated fingers down to the base. The cool menthol tingled on my fingers I could only imagine what he must be feeling at the moment. As if I was caressing his balls with ice would probably be close. I admit to playing longer with him than necessary to get him ready to be shaved. But then there was no rush.
He and I have all night.
Holding his cock up, I carefully laid the razor right below the head and shaved a path clean to the base.
~Scrape~
“You hurt my friends with what you do, you know that? Right? You and the others. The ones that go to the clubs telling everyone your bi-men, when you’re not.”
~Scrape~
“It’s like having a woman teasing you then not putting out. That not fun is it? It’s not nice of them to tease a man, knowing he has needs then stomping on them … but then, they are women. They have no insight into our level of sexual need. What woman could really know what it is to have a man’s needs?” I looked up at his fear laden eyes. I let the razor press harder into his skin. “But you do, Philip. You’re a man just like me. You know what it feels like to have that crap done to you. To be teased that way.”
~Scrape~
With him holding his breath, and my hand as steady as I could keep it, I slowly cleaned him of all the unwanted hair. My scissors then took care of the dirty-blond thatch, leaving a nice “hedge” next to his pruned “tree.” I had to smile as his dick hardened under my touch, his body responding even if he was terrified. Time to do more for that side. The fear had been fun but that was not the goal of this night … well, not just that. I went back behind the screen and returned with a pan of warm water and a sponge. With exquisite care I cleaned his crotch and legs of hair clippings and soap.
It was when I went behind him and began to clean his ass that the fun began. I knew it was going to happen but had to grin seeing a man trying to get himself away from me … that terribly … simply because I was washing his butt. Standing up, I leaned in right next to his ear.
“Easy, Philip.” I reached around him and cradled his cock in my hand. “We’re not at that point yet. I just want you clean.”
“Get your hands off me, you queer.”
I chuckled. Good, he had found his inner fighter. I hoped he would. He was too macho a man to take kindly to all these threats without bowing up at some point. Of course can’t let him get away with that sort of thing. I gripped him tighter and stroked his cock. I smiled at his squirming. He wanted so badly for me not to be touching him. Then, to make it even more fun, I let my other hand slip down his side to hold him tight by his hip bone. I pulled his bare ass back against my jeans and he jumped like a bee had stung him when he felt my own hard, jean covered, cock pressed against him.
“What’s the matter? This is what you were telling everyone you liked, earlier. Aren’t you having fun?”
“TURN ME LOOSE!”
“Okay,” I said simply. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a simple leather band with a metal snap and walked around so he could see me spinning it on my finger. “Recognize this?”
Dropping to one knee in front of him, enjoying the throbbing rose-headed rod before my face, I grabbed him again. Only this time I was none too gentle. And it was not just his cock I had ahold of. While he shouted, cursed, and tried to kick at me, I hooked the leather strap around him and snapped it into place. Standing up, I gave him one last stroke and left him to hang there.
Moving over to the small table I poured myself a glass of water, put two ice cubes from the bucket next to it and grabbed one of the smaller chairs. Dragging it back over to him I sat down–at my ease, sipping at the cold drink, enjoying the view–before him.
“So, Philip … tell me, have you ever been fisted by another man?” His eyes went to the size of dinner plates. Absently, I looked at my own hand, casually making a fist. “I’m going to make you a deal. You refrain from calling me silly names, and no matter what all else I do to you tonight, I won’t do that. Now given that you’re as jumpy as a virgin the back seat of a car on prom night, I know you would not enjoy it. And … your name calling it really doesn’t hurt me anyway.” I looked down at the twitching cock before me. “I’ve been called those same names by people I cared about. So call me what you like … it’s up to you … or going to be up in you, as the case may be.”
“Please let me go,” he said softly.
“So anger didn’t work, now you’re going to try and appeal to my sensitive side.” I chuckled. “There’s a problem with that, my sensitive side is attached to the part of me that wants to fuck you like the Energizer Bunny with fresh batteries. Neither of these is going to work for you in anyway, Philip.” I shook my head and took another sip. “Let me explain this night to you. You went out of your way to act like the kind of man that would attract a man … well, like myself. You were playing a part. Not playing it well, but the possibility was there that someone, a young gay man not sure of himself yet, might have been attracted to you. And then possibly your ‘Shut him down’ little speech would have devastated him. Maybe even got him to questioning himself again. Year of pain and struggle to get to where he was openly approaching a guy and then boom, back to square one.” I made tisking sounds and fished an ice cube out my glass when I took a sip, letting it play across my tongue. “I find that deplorable. So … what I’m going to do about it is … make an honest man out of you. You were telling people you were bisexual. Well, let see how much effort that takes, yes?”
Sliding my chair forwards, I locked my legs behind his and before he could flinch himself back took the head of his cock into my mouth and sucked on it. When he felt my cold tongue caress the tip he began to howl, in screaming rage and shock, for me to stop. Instead I took two nice handfuls of his meaty ass cheeks and pulled him in closer. Letting his cock slip deeper into my mouth and then to make his experience all the more I let that small piece of ice wander back towards the front of my mouth.
“STOP! OH,MY GOD STOP!”
Chuckling in my throat, something lovers have told me for years feels wonderfully “odd,” I paid his rant no mind and settled in to enjoy myself. It had been awhile since I got a chance to play with a nice cock and, for all his crap, Philip had a fairly nice one. Once the Amazon rainforest at the base had been cleared away, anyway. Against his hot skin that cold ice chunk turned to water far too quickly, but I was tired of it getting in the way by that point. Those spongy veins under my tongue were what I wanted to feel. They have always been my seduction point. Feeling the man I’m sucking’s heart beating through them as they slipped past my lips, seeing them all shiny with spit. Licking at the head that soft mushroom that rode my tongue to the back of my mouth. Now Philip, if I had been of a mind, could have tipped into my throat a little but he didn’t deserve that, not yet anyway.
My lips would have hit leather before then anyway.
Then I heard the change of sound from him and smiled around his cock. Gone were the pleas to stop. They shifted to wordless moans. Mindless sounds of a man trapped in pleasure. But he didn’t know. I absently caressed the leather strap beneath his balls and wanted to laugh. Soon, all too soon, he would be singing a different tune. When the need to cum began to build … and he couldn’t. I kept an ear out for that sweet sound. A painful grunt, a hunching of his hips, a frustrated moan and a gasping that told of orgasmic denial.
Yep. Cock tease me and my friends you fucker. Well, here’s what it feels like.
He was back to begging for me to stop by the time I got tired and wanted to rest my puffy-feeling lips. Just to be cruel I let my teeth rake the skin of that hard as stone cock, up to the flared head then, dragged them over that soft sponge, collecting the offered pre-cum on my tongue.
He wasn’t expecting me to stand up. He certainly wasn’t expecting the kiss. The gob of his own cum passed between his lips? Well, he never expected that in his life. I left him spitting trying to get rid of the taste and cussing me for doing it as I went to a far corner of the room. Twitching back the curtains, I pulled out the ladder and moved over to set it up behind him. A second set of ropes, hidden in a pocket of swaged material that ran to the corner I had just gotten this ladder from, dropped down level with his hands. These two ended in metal “dog-chain-style”snap-hooks.
Climbing back down, I went to a small cabinet full of fun toys and came back with leather wrist binders. He tried to fight me putting these on him but by now standing on his tip toes was taking its toll. I used that against him.
“I’m working to get you to a point where I can let you down. Would you like to have both feet on the floor, or not?” All it took was me telling him that and he quite struggling. “This night can be pleasant or rough, and mostly that’s up to you. That door locked when we came in and only I know how to make it unlock. You could hunt this room till you died of hunger and never find the latch. Also, as you’ve seen, no one is coming to rescue you when you scream. Hell, scream till your voice is gone. I’m the only one that can hear you. The room is totally sound proof.” I clicked the snap hooks onto the metal rings on the leather cuffs, and slipped the heavier ropes off his wrists. “There all done. Now was that so bad?”
Climbing down, I stored my ladder back behind the curtain and picked up the remote from the table. With these, more precise controls, I let him down till his feet were on the floor and he had a bit of slack so his arms were not held so high up. He moaned in pleasure at the lessening of strain.
“Want more?” I ran a hand across his ass cheek. “This doesn’t have to be torture.” I stepped around in front of him and smiled. “There is no one here to see. Just you and me. Two guys with hard cocks and a need to cum. Oh, don’t make that face.” I walked away to one of the more comfortable chairs and had a seat. “Tell me, do you know why you just did that? That look of disgust. There is no reason for it.”
“I’m not gay,” he said in a strong voice. Like he was making a declaration to the world, not just me.
I had to purse my lips and repeat it back to him in mockery. “I’m not gay … Oh, Philip. You have been so brainwashed it’s not funny. You. Are. A. Man. No more than that but no less than that either. And a man may be everything and still be a man.” Getting up, I toed off my shoes. “See, to you I am a gay man, but if I wanted to I could go and pick up a girl. Take a look at me.” I pulled my white shirt off over my head. “I have a nice body, I have money, you saw I have a hot car. My house here is a sex pad from hell. I can dance; I can play music, and recite poetry. I can work with my hands. Most of the furniture in this room, the piece that trapped you for instance, was crafted by me. And trust me, if the desire was there those hands could make a woman purr like a kitten.”
Walking over to him I pressed the button in my hands and his arms lowered, him giving off moans the whole time. I stopped right in front of him. I looked back at the cold hate in his eyes with sympathy.
“You have been lied to, your whole life, about what you are. About what I am. About what sex is. And about what it is not.” I smiled at him “I would advise you not to take that swing you are thinking about. For one, I still have the remote and this one, unlike the first one I used to suspend you with, is a little sensitive. I push this button too hard and you will be hanging from the rafters. And two, I took boxing in high school and college. I will so kick your ass.” I grinned “But, unlike most guys you would get into a fight with, when I’m done kicking your ass I might just fuck it too, just for the fun of it.”
“You’re a sick fucker. How can you look at another guy’s hairy ass and find love?” he demanded, in the oldest clichéd saying there is.
“How can you look at something that will bleed for a week and not die and have your first thought be to put your mouth to the gash? Here is a news flash for you, Philip. Sex … regular, plain as vanilla, straight sex is not the cleanest thing God could come up with either! What?” He had suddenly looked at me like I had grown two heads.
“You believe in God?”
“Yes … I mean, I’m not a regular church-going-kind-of-guy but yeah, sure. I believe.” I looked at his face knowing what was coming next and decided to get ahead of the questions. “So If I believe, how can I be gay? Is that what you’re thinking? Oh, I know all gay men will burn in hell. It says so in the Bible, right?”
“Yeah! It’s condemned in the Bible.”
Smiling, I moved back to my seat leaving him standing there rubbing at his shoulders. “Do you know that the same passages that speak of homosexuality being a sin also condemn the eating of shrimp and rabbit, the co-mingling of crops and the wearing of linen and wool at the same time?”
“It’s unnatural!”
His righteous contempt was the old familiar dagger in my gut. My father’s words spat back at me. But, unlike when I was in my teens, I knew this answer now. “Is anything in this world more following of the plan of God than an animal? Humans have free will to do as we please but an animal follows the instinctive behavior given to his by the Creator’s hand. Yes?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“No guessing! Yes or no?” I demanded. I got up and crossed back to stand in front of him, wish this was my father. That a cold grave hadn’t been the only thing to heard me speak these words before now had never seemed fair.
“Well yeah, then.”
“Then you stand there and tell me how my wanting to have sex with another man is unnatural when every animal species on this planet practices homosexuality. From the smallest mice to the biggest whales. They all do it!” I shook my head. “My sexual desires are not base. To love my fellow man, to comfort him when he is hurting and to seek pleasure with him when he is not. That is not base. That is the very thing that makes us men. Now, tell me this, Philip. Earlier, when your cock was in my mouth, did that feel good?”
He blushed like a bride on her wedding day. Oh, it was delicious.
“A blow job’s a blow job.”
I grinned. “Keep telling yourself that, lovely. Whatever lets you hide the fact you enjoyed the hell out of having another guy sucking on you, huh? Hide behind the Bible too if you wish. Just never let me see you eating shrimp cocktail or touch a football again. Thou’ shalt not touch the skin of a dead pig, remember? Can never tell what sin will keep you out of heaven.” I reached out and ran a finger over his torso. “Oh, by the way, you’re naked in a room with a gay man who also has his shirt off. In some states, despite the fact I took your clothes off under duress you’re still guilty of sodomy. Even though I did all the work.” I grinned at him.
For a second I thought he was going to take a swing at me, my warnings or not. I let my thumb caress the plastic button in my hand, waiting.
“Can I leave? You’ve had your fun. I get it, alright. You don’t like that I have been pretending to be gay to pick up chicks.”
“No. I don’t like it that you’ve been pretending to not be gay in the first place.” I reached for his still hard cock.
“I told you I’m not gay! I love to eat pussy and I only like fucking women.” He took a step away from my hand.
“And I used to love those little vanilla ice cream cups, with the splintery wooden spoons, till I ate at a Baskin-Robin. Look around you, Philip. There is no one in this place to judge you. Me? I just had your dick in my mouth! Now, you’re hard. Hurts doesn’t it? Not a nice feeling. Do you have any prospects of taking care of that, this late at night, except with your own hand? I promise, I can do a lot better than that.”
Oh, to watch his face. The thousand and one emotions running across it; the thoughts behind those steel-gray eyes. A lifetime of “shant ever do’s” going to war with the fact his cock has to be hurting like mad. The need to cum and cum hard tearing at his inhibitions.
“What do you have in mind?”
I smiled gently. “Well, to begin with, I’m going to take off my pants.”
“NO WAY IN HELL!”
I placed a finger in my ear and mimed trying to get to hear again. “Sound proof room and I’m right in front of you. No need to shout. Philip, do your friends call you Phil? Look Phil, I ‘knew’ your dick has to hurting, because I have one just like it. Hell, mine is every bit as hard and has been hard for just as long as yours. Difference is, mine’s crammed into these tight as hell jeans and that’s uncomfortable. I want to get comfortable. That couch over there is wonderfully soft to sit on or lay down on, and it folds down into an incredibly comfortable bed. Let me get out these pants, I’ll get us a beer and we can sit down and just talk. Here, I’ll even take that strap off of you.”
With a “I never intended to hurt you” smile, I knelt down and unhooked the leather strap from under his balls. He sighed, and then looked down at me as I again took hold of his dick. I let the heat of my hand warm his cock in my palm. Leaning in, I cleaned the tip extracting an exquisite moan from him.
“Phil, if I had wanted to, I could have moved you to the couch by ropes and pulleys. Your feet would never have touched the floor. A naked marionette puppet. I could have hooked your wrists and feet to shackles and, when you couldn’t resist in anyway, raped you. I still could do that; at this very second I could do that. This room is set up to allow me to take the strongest man there is and do whatever I want to him. Now …” I got to my feet and looked him in the eyes. “Shall we sit, drink a beer and talk sex. Hell, we can talk sports if you like.” I puffed up my chest. “Act all manly?”
He actually smiled, and then slowly nodded yes. “Can we take these off?” He held up the bracelets.
“The ropes yes, the cuffs … well, let’s leave those in place for a bit longer. I rather like men in leather.” I dangled the cock strap. “Unless, you would like me to put this back on you instead?”
I helped him with the snap hooks and then left him to find the couch as I went to get him and myself a beer. The bottled brew was icy cold. Since it was sitting in the big bucket of ice I keep in the mini-fridge behind the screen. I left my pants back there. No need to scare him with a striptease at this point. Although wrestling him back into the ropes might be fun. But then, him face down on that couch, was the final goal in any event and why not give persuasion a try first.
“Here.” I held out the sweating bottle of Schlitz.
“Thanks.”
Journal entry: July 28th, 1979
What a night. A very successful first test of my “Jungle Room’s” traps. One cock teasing straight converted to a true bi man. And all my lustful needs taken care of, for a moment or two. Excellent! Excellent! Excellent!
Now Philip and I must have talked for a good hour or better. Mostly me listening telling him I understood, sometimes even when I didn’t. Then I kissed him. Eyes open, soft as your grandmother’s patchwork blanket, and so slow he could have hopped up and run to the other side of the room. But he didn’t. He let me kiss him. Then to my surprise he kissed me back.
With a sigh, I left the pen on the open page and walked the few steps to lie back down on the soft couch. My inseminated bed for most of this day, I still wanted to go back to sleep. And why not? All the beer bottles were cleaned up, the leather wiped down. The bottle of massage oil and the tubes of lube were put away. What more needed done today?
Nothing.
The cushions swallowed me in their firm grip and I let my tired head rest on the puffy arm of the couch. Even after cleaning the leather the masculine smell of last night still clung to it. Breathing in that musk, I felt a twitch that was painful due to how sore I was. Never the less, I placed a comforting hand on the growing hardness in my shorts. Not really needing to cum, god no, but simply to ease the ache. I smiled thinking of all the aches Philip helped me to ease before I let him out this morning and showed him the door. Just thinking about it was making me even harder.
That first kiss, and its return, had led to me touching him, then him hesitantly touching me. On my chest of course, nothing further south than my belly button, but I let him take his time. I was certainly in no rush. Not at first.
When I had him well and truly hard again I teased him. Told him I would not let him cum till he touched me. You would have thought my dick was a stove eye. Giving him my best “Is that what you call a touch?” look, I leaned back on the leather and just waited. When he moved his hand towards me a second time–like he was about to touch a snake–I moved it at the last second, making my cock twitch and you would have thought it bit him. Laughing at him, Philip had given me a look, and then took ahold of my cock … hard. Too hard really, but by then I didn’t care. Closing my eyes, I had let him explore. Like a duck to water he knew what to do of course, once he got past the fact he was holding another man’s dick. He stroked me, awkwardly at first then with a growing confidence. Then he got an odd look and turned me loose.
Know that the inner switch had been thrown, and that he didn’t know what to do about the fact he had crossed a line, I took a bit of pity on him. With a grin, I had slid down the couch and took him back into my mouth.
Remembering that warmth, I smiled and gave my dick a stroke through my shorts, then moved them out the way and took a grip on my cock.
He had done the typical closing-his-eyes, so I bit him. That had made him look and I had told him he better watch me or he might lose the tip. Cock sucking is either participation or a spectator sport, if he wanted to take a nap, he could finish me off first. That got him to watching.
I knew, of course, if he had kept those eyes closed, my mouth would have just been standing substitute for the memory of whatever floozy he was with last. And given where he went to pick up girls there was no way my–if I have to say so myself–awesome ability to give head was going to be compared to one of them Aqua Net princesses.
Like comparing Leon Spinks to Jiro Wantanabe! And Dorothy let me tell you … you better know I’m Spinks!
Really getting into my current slow stroking, I turned over putting my face into the leather, and began to fuck my hand. Breathing in the male-sweaty smell, mixed with the smell of leather and the spicy body oil we had used last night. Memories of the last time I had been like this made me moan. I could almost feel him in me again. Those first hesitant strokes, then that slip of his hand on the oiled leather that put him into my ass balls deep, and made me scream. Biting this leather, gnawing at it, I had endured his clumsy fumblings till he finally got a rhythm, then I could relax and enjoy letting him ride me.
Philip had been such a spaz at the start, I had to wonder if mine was the first piece of ass, of any type, he ever got to plow. Still he learned quickly. Of course he had to. Learn quickly that is. Seriously, I’ve seen some just out of high school twink, with his first piece, that lasted longer. Oh well, if I was after the fuck of the century I wouldn’t be “hunting” straight guys.
Of course after last night Philip no longer qualifies for that title. Yeah, sure he’s never going to be a leather boy riding a giant penis float in the Pride Parade, but he was out. At least to himself. He had squirmed at the thought of what he had done, the moment he sent his cum into my ass he had anyway. But two more beers, some more talk, and he had finally come to grips with it.
Decided that, maybe, really being a Bi-man wasn’t so bad.
And of course my then offering him a hot oil back rub to ease his … tension … had led him to naively taking my place, face down on this couch. With me on top. Oh, poor Philip. He has so much to learn if he wants to keep himself batting more for the Chick Hunter’s League. Like when your back is covered with slick oil and a gay man is on top of you, and you have wrists cuffs on, and are lying on a couch with rings made to hook those very cuffs, and said gay man hasn’t cum yet … you don’t fall asleep.
He had been completely out of it when I snapped the hooks to the rings. He had even slept through me moving on top of him. But a good thick seven inches of dick in the butt–of an ass sex virgin at that–is one hell of an alarm clock. He awoke with a scream and started to cuss me and struggle. I was in too deep by then to have quit, had I been so inclined, which I wasn’t. He had gotten his fun with my ass after all, I was due. Can’t see what he had been bitchin’ about, I at least knew how to do this. I didn’t push in like a steel tent stake into Jell-O for one. Nor did I immediately start into pumping like I was making butter in a churn. I took my time, was gentle, gave him time to adjust … and only then did I fuck him like his ass was a Blue Light Special sale at Kmart.
“Attention Kmart shoppers … this ass is open, no lines no waiting.”
Even now, on the throws of needing to clean these couch cushions again, I chuckled at the memory of the expression on his face when he had looked up and seen himself in the big wall-sized gold-framed mirror, being fucked in the ass. By me. And when, after enough time to leave him sore till next Tuesday, I got my rocks off in his butt and settled my weight on him. Lying there licking the tasty massage oil from off the back of his neck, whispering by his ear–praising him for taking it so well–the fucker had, I swear to you, blushed!
Like a prom queen, who just lost her cherry in the back of a ’57 Chevy, Philip had fucking blushed! He was of course panting for breath. Drenched in sweat. Covered in sticky oil. Filled with even stickier cum. And, he was right on the edge of coming again himself. A fact I found out when I freed him and he turned over sporting a dripping-tip, Johnny flagpole.
You know me, waste not want not. Right?
Reaching my left hand back, I dug my fingernails into my ass cheek, spreading myself a little and, since there was no reason to be quiet in here, screamed out one hell of an awesome orgasmic “Yawp!”
Well, from just my own hand anyway.
Panting, now seriously cock-sore, I rested on the wet leather couch till I felt I could walk again. Sitting up, I looked up at the ceiling, dreading the ladder and those dangling ropes that still need to be recoiled, I smiled. That smile became a chuckle, then a full on belly laugh. I shook my head, took a look around me again at all the crazy furniture, all the hidden “mantraps” I had made, all the interesting “lures” I had in place to hold a man’s attention.
And I had just fuckin’ masturbated.
Getting to my feet, I put my limp cock back in my shorts and went back to work resetting the “Jungle Room” for the next hunt. Stopping at my desk, I closed my journal on the spot I had just added to, but not finished. I would have plenty of time to add to that later today. Time to detail out the “Philip Safari” in enough stunning details to make Marlin Perkins envious.
Glancing up in the corners, I smiled seeing the glint of light off the three Super 8mm lenses around the room. Of course, I also had to do all that cutting and splicing of film at work in my editing studio. After hours, once the boss was gone. I laughed thinking of what his expression would be if he ever walked in and found me in the middle of editing one of these “documentaries” instead of his latest film project.
Seeing the remote that worked those cameras, I picked it up to put it back where it goes but stopped. I looked up at the corner closest to me and hit the button with a half-hidden smile.
“This is Hunting with Hunter, coming to you from the Jungle Room, wishing all you a good night, and remember to protect your valuable ass … ets with a Mutual of Omaha insurance policy. Goodnight.”