A gay story: Picking Up the Trash I am a very successful businessman; six figure income, married to a very successful businesswoman, father to 4 great kids with one dirty little secret.
Despite a successful marriage and a great relationship with my wife, there has always been something missing in my life. Sex with men.
I am not talking relationships with men. I am talking about hard core, give it your all sex. As a reasonably good-looking man, I suppose I could frequent local gay bars and be sure of finding someone with whom to spend the night. But most of those men want more; something more than I am willing to give. And there is always the risk of being identified leading to explanations to family and friends.
The type of man who attracts me is not the preppy-type or the businessman-type or the blue collar-type. The type of man who really gets my juices going is the trashy or street type. Oh, and my preference is for straight, trashy, street guys. The type most guys would run from — and smart they would be to run. The element of danger is part of the attraction.
Because I have money to burn I find no problem locating these guys. Local employment exchanges are my prime hunting ground. The places where men can find a job by the day cash on the barrelhead. I have found that if I arrive between 9:30 and 10:00 there are guys for the picking. By that time of the morning, most of the good jobs are gone and what’s left is neither lucrative nor desirable. That is where I come in.
A typical day’s experience will let you know what I mean:
My most favourite hunting ground is the “Corner” a location where employers in need of day labourers send trucks to pick guys up for transport to the jobsite. Usually a hundred or so show up early in the morning, about 5 am, and about eighty or ninety are chosen usually by 7-7:30. The rest — too bad so sad.
This particular day I showed up just before 9:30. There were nine dejected men sitting around hoping against hope an employer would come by. For my hunting expeditions I drive a pickup — not too new not too old. I turned the corner and scouted out the prospects. Among the really scuzzy types there was a younger fellow who looked reasonably good-looking and presentable.
He wore worn work boots, jeans that have seen better days and a baggy t-shirt with a couple of small holes. He had a one, or perhaps two-day, growth of beard and an unruly mop of dirty blonde hair — speaking of its colour not its cleanliness. But his hair did look as though he just rolled out of bed without bothering to shower — a bonus in his favour.
His nose had been broken at some stage and was slightly out of alignment. And he had a scar from the edge of the left eyebrow across to his hairline. These both spoke to a dangerous side to his character. Both added attractiveness to an otherwise ordinary face.
When I first spotted him he was slouched against the wall of the building, a cigarette dangling from his lips in a manner you see in old westerns.
All nine hopefuls perked up as I arrived but I stationed my pickup closest to my chosen one. He quickly moved up and climbed in to the passenger’s seat on my invitation.
I noticed immediately a number of tattoos on his arms, a couple of which looked like “prison tats’ — amateur jobs done with the limited resources in correctional institutions. Another bonus in his favour.
I also noticed the slight miasma of alcohol which could also explain why he was still here and not on a jobsite somewhere.
“What you looking for?” he asked. A standard opening for the location.
“I am looking for someone not afraid of hard work and who is not afraid of trying something new.” I replied.
“Sound interesting. What’s the pay like?” Also a standard response.
“For the right guy up to 250 bucks. Sometimes with a bonus but that requires some extra hard work.”
“Geesus, I’m your man.” Not standard but not unusual.
“Not so fast. First lets get some information. Name, age, that sort of thing.”
“Uh, sure. Pete Praprosky, I’m 34, I’m a journeyman welder but I can do framing carpentry, roofing and can do plumbing and electrical if there is no inspector on-site, and I am willing to be a gofer. Whatever you want basically.”
“Whatever is good. You married? Kids?” Not a standard, nor even legal, question but Pete didn’t care; he needed the money.
“Yeah, married, two kids, another on the way. That’s why I need the money. We came out here from the East but there are too many journeymen welders and I haven’t found steady work yet.”
“That’s rough with that many mouths to feed. Where out East you from?”
“Conception Bay.”
“Nice area, been there once, years ago.”
“Yeah, so what’s the job?” Pete was impatient, reminiscing not on his agenda.
“How long were you in prison?”
“Oh, fuck. A secure site, uh?” He reached for the door handle.
“Not at all. Just curious. I noticed the tats.”
“So, if I tell you I still get the job?”
“Not so fast, there are other things we need to discuss but let’s say it won’t exclude you from the job.”
“Three years. Armed robbery.” He named an institution out east. “So what’s the job?” again down the brass tacks.
“Let me be blunt. I’m looking for a male model for life study photography.”
“What?”
“I do life studies. That is a form of photography in which the purpose is to explore the human body.”
“What you take pictures of me? That’s worth $250.00?”
“Yes, but in order to earn the 250 the subject, you, would have to be in various stages of undress.”
“Undress? You mean naked?” He shook his head and reached for the door handle again.
“That’s right. It’s up to you, Pete. 250 for being nude. And the bonuses… but if it isn’t your thing, I understand. Sorry to have bothered you.”
As the door opened, I started the engine. But, as I expected, Pete did not jump out but turned back, only one foot out the door. “These pictures don’t end up on the internet do they? On some fag site?”
I ignored the slur. “The pictures are strictly for my own use, and perhaps a few select friends. Other than that no-one will ever see them.”
He pulled his foot back into the truck but didn’t close the door. “How… how can I be sure?”
“Well, Pete, it boils down to trust. If you think you can trust me, then go for it; if not I’ll find someone else. I will promise I will not make you do anything you don’t agree to do beforehand.”
“Oh shit. … I really need the money. I got out of bed late and … Oh shit, I don’t know.”
I sat in silence. Pete continued to dither speaking more to himself than to me.
Finally, I said, “Ok, you are in or you’re out. I’m not waiting all day.”
He looked at me as if assessing my trustworthiness, “I’m in. Oh, shit.” He closed the door and put on the seatbelt.
“Great. Let’s go.” I put the pickup in gear and drove off before he could talk himself out of it.
I keep a small apartment for this purpose a short distance from the Corner and we arrived quickly. I led the way in, Pete dragging behind still not 100% convinced he had made the correct decision.
Although not is a great building, the apartment is scrupulously clean and the living room appointed like any photography studio — lighting, props, cameras, et cetera. The business-like atmosphere tends to put guys at ease. They realize I am what I say I am — a photographer — well, as far as they are concerned.
I offered Pete a beverage. He chose beer. We sat and talked for about 15 minutes so he didn’t feel rushed or pressured. I found out a good deal about Pete, his wife, their children (he’s hoping for another boy but really doesn’t care), the wrench of the move away from his family, and a lot of other stuff I really wasn’t interest in.
“Ok, Pete, tempus fugit,” he looked confused, “time flies,” I explained. “Shall we get to work?”
“Ok,” he said reluctantly, and he actually started to pull his t-shirt off.
I stopped him. “Not so fast, cowboy. Some paper work first.”
“What?”
“This is legit, Pete, and as the model you have to be protected to some degree.” I pulled out the standard model release forms I used. They didn’t really mean much because I’m not a professional photographer interested in selling my pictures but the forms made the guys more comfortable. I spent a few minutes explaining and Pete signed where I indicated. We had to sit close together and I savoured his manly, unwashed smell as we did so.
“Ok, now to work. I want to start with some shots of you dressed as you are and we’ll move on from there.”
I set him up against the background and began shooting. He followed direction badly; fortunately for me as that allowed me to touch him to get him into the positions I wanted, or at least, said I wanted so I could touch him.
“Start to take off your shirt,” I instructed, “Slowly, lift from the bottom, show me some of your stomach.” He revealed his abdomen. As I suspected his was not a gym-toned body. He had a bit of a beer-belly starting and some definite love handles but, overall, not bad.
We progressed slowly. It was ,after all, foreplay for me. Finally, his shirt was off. His upper torso showed that he had been really fit at some stage but had been on a downhill skid fitness-wise. But he was still hot in my eyes.
I made a point of photographing the various tattoos on his arms and upper chest. This allowed me to play with his pecs, arms, armpits and even his nipples as one tattoo was stretched atop his left nipple. ‘Jennifer’ it said. His wife, apparently.
We had been at it for almost 45 minutes when I instructed him to loosen his belt. His previous reluctance returned. “Look, if you are just going to waste my time…”
“No, no, I’ll do it.” And he did.
After the belt, the top button on his jeans. Then the zipper inch by inch. I had him splay open his fly. It revealed he was wearing white jockeys which could have been cleaner. Bonus.
He was hesitant to lower his jeans when asked but that meant he did it slowly which was great for the photo shoot and a turn on for me.
He had to sit to take off his work boots which allowed for some nice shots of his crotch in those dirty jockeys. Pete actually blushed when he stood and his dirty jockeys were on full view. Nothing like a macho man who blushes.
I allowed him to light a cigarette to put him more at ease. “Pull the back of your underwear down a bit. Good. Good. And, now pull them down below your ass.”
The promised land, I thought. “This isn’t right.” I told him.
“Whatcha mean?” he thought he was losing out on the money.
“A dude like you should be wearing a jock strap.” I pulled one from my prop cabinet. I judged it to be at least two sizes too small. “Put this on.”
He shyly turned his back to me and exchanged jockeys for jock strap. “Too tight,” he commented.
“Not to worry you won’t be wearing it long. Turn around and show me.” The strap was too small and too tight. It pushed his junk forward and made it more prominent. Just what I wanted. I snapped many shots, having Pete twist this way and that. I got a lot of shots of his ass, even some of him bending over to pick something up.
I took my time with that jock strap. Pete sat, crouched, and stretched in every conceivable manner. He was becoming more comfortable with displaying his body, especially as I praised him on how good looking he was. Once he got used to a guy saying stuff like that he relaxed.
I had Pete slowly, ever so slowly, pull the front of the jock down, revealing first his thick, full pubic hair and then the base of his cock. Slowly, ever so slowly, his cock emerged until, finally, the whole thing dangled before me. He hung about 3 inches soft. I praised the look of his cock. He blushed. And tried to hide it behind his hand. I slapped his hand away. In doing so my hand brushed his cock.
Again, Pete sat, crouched, and stretched in every conceivable manner. As is not uncommon in these photo shoots, there was some growth in Pete’s cock. Guys, straight or gay, love showing off their cocks.
After ten minutes and dozens of shots of Pete and his cock, I announced, “There we are done. You can get dressed. Thank you.” I started packing my equipment.
A naked Pete looked at me, “That’s it?”
“For $250 that is it.”
“What about the bonuses you mentioned? Did I earn any bonus?”
“For any bonus, there is more to do. You haven’t indicated you wanted to earn any bonus,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Well… what do I do to earn a bonus?” Pete was just where I wanted him — relaxed and yet desperate for money.
“Well getting naked…”
“I did that” he interrupted.
“And then getting hard,” I continued, “and then another bonus for jerking off, cumming, and then…” I paused looking at Pete’s face.
“Fuck,” he muttered, “I knew it.” But there was a pause followed by, “And then what? You said ‘and then’.”
“I did. Guys who get hard, jerk off until they cum then can earn a larger bonus by…” again a deliberate pause.
“Yeah? What do I have to do?”
“For one larger bonus you can suck me,” Pete groaned. “For the largest bonus you can let me fuck you.”
“No, no way, not happening, man.” Pete was animated for the first time since we started.
“Your call. Get dressed and I’ll get your money.”
He didn’t move toward his clothes. “Wait,” pause, “I.. uh… wait…”
We were back to Pete dithering. I waited while he talked to himself more than to me, “We need the money. I … but… no… the money… the kids… Oh, Christ. Oh, no, I won’t… I can’t … the dough. Shit, I don’t know.” A pause. “How much for jerking off?”
“Its an extra 50 for getting hard, 100 for jerking off. 150 for sucking me off. An extra $250 for getting fucked. For doing it all, that adds up to $800.00. For some extra kink another 200 each. A total of $1200. Your choice.”
“1200! but getting fucked…? What other kink?”
“You tied up while I fuck you. Me pissing inside you — mouth or ass.”
“Holy mother, you kidding me? You’re joking, right?”
“No. Dead serious.”
Pete began pacing, naked, around the room. Dithering some more. I got some great shots.
“I’m willing to bet you got fucked in prison, right? Here, at least, you would be getting something out of it”
“I didn’t get fucked. … I was the fucker.”
“Who?”
“Cell mate.”
” Rape him?” My tone was rough, insensitive.
“I guess. You could call it that.”
He hesitated, but then, “No, I can do it. I need the money and if other guys can do it I can do it. Fuck me man. Tie me up and fuck the crap out of me.”
“First get hard.” I looked down at his crotch, “You already are.” A very nice 6-6.5″. Pete looked at himself. “You like the idea of getting fucked, don’t ya, Pete?”
“Uh… damn it, yes.”
“Alright, lets go into the bedroom.”
Pete plopped himself down on the bed and grabbed his cock. “What do I do now?”
“Depends on what you want to do and how much you want to earn.”
“All of it. All 1200. Do your worse, man, I can take it.”
I removed my clothes and lay next to Pete. He continued to jerk his cock. He didn’t notice the cameras I had mounted in the room, preserving his actions. “Cum for me, Pete. Pound your meat and blow a load.”
He went to work with energy; I grabbed his balls as they bounced up and down; he twitched uncomfortably at my touch. I verbally encouraged him, “Jerk that cock, show me what you can do. Blow that load. Cream for me, dude. Think of fucking Jennifer. Think of cunt.”
“Yeah, going to fuck her cunt. Going to fuck every cunt I can find. Nice smooth hairless cunt to split open with my fucking big cock.” Pete was really getting into this, his fantasies came spilling out as he focussed on cumming.
As he jerked I fondled his balls, and played with his nipples and ran my finger along his ass crack. All of this seemed to spur him on.
“Fuck, I’m cumming. Gonna blow.” And he did. His cum splashed across his abdomen collecting in little pools, matting down his body hair.
“Alright, another 150 is yours. Next?”
Pete looked at me. His orgasm had drained him but the money spurred him on and he brought his head to my crotch and began sucking. It was obvious his intent was to get me off as quickly as possible. That was okay with me. The sooner I blew the longer the fuck would last. Pete’s efforts were quickly rewarded. I erupted without warning and filled his mouth. He pulled back as I was still shooting.
“Christ, man. Why didn’t you say something?”
“‘Cause I expect you to swallow my load.”
Pete stared at me for a moment, then deliberately swallowed. I pointed to my crotch where my cum glistened. He bowed down and licked it all up.
“Another 150,” I announced.
Pete sighed. “How you want me to fuck me?”
“Well, first you have to get me hard again.”
“What? You didn’t say…”
“I shouldn’t have to say, it’s obvious, isn’t it. No hard on, no fuck, no fuck, no $250. It is up to you.”
“Geesuz, give me a minute.”
“Take your time. In the meanwhile, I’ll get you ready.”
“What do you mean?”
“You want me to fuck you dry? Or would you rather I loosened you up and lubricated you? Either way is fine by me.” I picked up the bottle of lube from the nightstand and showed it to him.
I flipped myself so my cock was at his head and my head near his ass. He sat looking at my cock as if willing it to harden by itself so he didn’t need to do anything.
I, on the other hand, went to work on his ass. First I shoved my face into his crack so I could smell his funky smells. I wanted to rim but wasn’t sure enough of his hygiene. Instead I poured some lube into my hand and began my ass play.
I ran a wet finger up and down his crack pausing each time as I passed over the puckered little hole. I then paused longer on his hole, running my finger along the rim of his treasure hole. I actually heard Pete moan as I did this.
My actions inspired Pete to start tackling his task of getting me hard. He began licking my cock shaft. Teasing the head. Quick learner.
I was an experienced hand at opening tight asses. I lubricated the outer ring well and then pushed in. Pete protested and instinctively tightened his pucker. I continued to push forward. Pete relaxed enough for my finger to enter. I let it rest for a short time and then pulled back and pushed forward until the first knuckle rested in his ass. It was warm and funky smelling. I loved it.
I repeated my actions of pulling and pushing until I got in to my second knuckle. All the while Pete was groaning around my cock which was hardening in his mouth.
Again a repeat performance until my entire finger was lodged in his gut.
“You’re hard,” Pete announced, “Can I stop?”
“Depends. You want a dry cock rammed up your ass or a wet one sliding in?” Fortunately for me, Pete didn’t stop to think I was lubricating his ass as I fingered him, so he went back to “wetting” my cock.
I, on the other hand — pardon the pun — was introducing a second finger into Pete’s incredibly tight ass. He grunted and tried to tighten his ring again. “Tight ass being split by my cock or a loose ass accepting my cock. Your choice.” I said.
He sighed and his ring loosened and the second finger slide in. I located his prostate and massaged it. His cock responded to my efforts and hardened and leaked pre-cum. Time for a third finger. Pete grunted in protest again but made no effort to keep me out. I debated adding a fourth finger and then my thumb so I could fist this straight dude but decided that was too much for a first time. Maybe next time.
I pulled my cock from Pete’s mouth and moved behind him. He started to get on all fours. “No, no, on your back. I want to watch your face as I fuck your tight, straight ass.”
He flipped onto his back. I lifted his legs and pushed them up to his chest, his knees nearly in his ears. I reached under the bed and brought out the straps secured there. I grabbed his wrists and secured them. I then attached each ankle to other straps. He was folded over almost in a fetal position. “200 more.”
I positioned my cockhead at his opening. I then playfully announced, “Ready or not here it comes.” And I leaned into his body. My cock entered and Pete groaned and cried, “Christ, man. You’re huge. You’re ripping me apart. Take it out! Take it out!”
I stopped my forward motion and rested. “My cock is smaller than my three fingers you entertained up there earlier. Just relax.”
I don’t think he believed me but he ceased his protests and struggles. As soon as he was calmer I shoved forward again. He grunted and his eyes screwed up but he said nothing. Soon I bottomed out with my entire cock up his tight straight ass — no longer virgin.
“So the big macho man has a cock up his ass. How does it feel?”
“Hurry up and get it out of me.” He protested loudly.
“Not how it works, man. For me to enjoy this fuck I have to know you are enjoying the fuck. I want to see your face register pleasure. Until that happens I going to keep riding you. Fucking you. Fucking your ass.” And I began to long stroke him, pulling out until only the head remained and then ramming my full weight into him.
Each such stroke brought out groans and grunts and occasionally a “Christ almighty”, or “Holy Mother”. Sadist that I am I enjoyed each vocalization.
After five minutes, Pete’s reaction changed. He was no longer muttering protests; he was groaning and moaning with pleasure. “So, straight man, how does it feel to have cock shoved up your ass?”
“Oh, oh, … fuck me, it feels good now.”
“Maybe next time you fuck Jennifer I should be fucking you. What do you think? Let Jennifer know her big strong straight husband likes cock up his ass.” He shook his head. “Think she would like watching you sucking cock and getting fucked? Bet she would like that.” He shook again, less vehemently. “For her next birthday give her a strap-on.”
He looked at me, “What?”
“A strap on dildo women use to fuck their husbands. Those husbands man enough to admit they love cock up their asses. You man enough, Pete? Man enough to tell Jennifer you have been fucked and you love it.”
As I spoke I was jabbing short strokes hitting his prostate with each stroke. He moaned and then suddenly shot a load of hot cum across his belly.
“Must love it, Pete, you just shot your load without anyone touching your cock.”
He blushed which spurred me on to drive into his ass harder. I was in a real rhythm. Pete was begging me to finish, when I drove in as far as I could and blew my load up his ass. ‘Can you feel it, Pete? Can you feel my load?”
“Yes, I can. It feels hot. I can feel it.”
“Good man. Well you certainly earned that $250.”
“Are we finished now? Can I get up?”
“Depends, Pete. You are up to a grand. You want the rest?”
“Rest?” he stopped to think. It dawned on him. “Yeah, go ahead. Do it, man.”
“Alright. Now do I want to piss in your ass or in your mouth?” I asked rhetorically. “Hmm, ass or mouth? Mouth or ass? Which would you prefer, Pete?”
The poor man was torn. He obviously preferred neither but that wasn’t a choice. “Ass?”
“Um, wrong.” I laughed. I untied his legs giving me access to his mouth. Positioning myself, I told him, “Open wide,” and placed my softening cock in his mouth. And waited. Pete looked me in the eye with apparent relief thinking I had been kidding him. He closed his mouth over my cock and suckled, thinking this was part of the game.
Until… a steady stream of piss poured into his mouth and down his gullet. He swallowed gallantly but some still ran out and over his cheeks. When the stream stopped I left my cock in his mouth. He got the message and licked my cockhead clean.
Finally, I got up, released his hands and told him, “Now we are finished.” You can shower if you would like.” I left the room to get Pete his money.
After his shower before he dressed, I slowly counted out the $1200 he had earned so well.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and pulled on his clothes rapidly.
“Thank you. A most enjoyable morning. I’ll drive you back now.”
“Thanks, I prefer to walk.” And he stomped off.
That’s the way of it when I hunt trashy men to have fun with. Never to see them again.
But… the next time I cruised the Corner, there was Pete. He waved and approached my pickup before anyone else could do so. Interesting.