The Handjob by Anel Viz

The Handjob

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- 1 -

Bruce and Gary weren’t exclusive partners, nor did they live together, but it was tacitly assumed that someday they would do both. There was no question of adopting and raising a family; neither had any wish to become a papa. They could take their time, grow together, wait for their little disagreements to iron themselves out, as no doubt they would, and let their love to deepen into permanence. No reason to jump into things. A relationship is a precarious phenomenon, and making it official does not insure against it disintegrating, as Bruce knew all too well, whose parents had married young and gone through multiple divorces and remarriages, and who had more mommies and daddies than Gary had aunts, uncles and cousins. They kept their one-night stands to themselves and were never tempted to repeat them with the same guy, and there were only a couple whom they still remembered more or less clearly a month later.

How they met sounds more romantic than it in fact was – at a Valentine’s Day party hosted by a mutual friend, a straight man who didn’t have a clue that either of them was gay, and had invited a couple of women with the idea that maybe Bruce or Gary would hook up with one of them. Instead they went to Gary’s, got naked, got off, and spent the night together. After that they knew.

* * *

They went on a European vacation the second summer after they met, the first time abroad for both of them. They flew into Amsterdam, where they checked out the gay scene they’d heard so much about, and spent a whole day in the Thermos baths as a couple, but strictly as a couple. They hit the museums and the Anne Frank house too, then took the train to Köln, where they’d booked passage for the romantic cruise up the Rhine, got off in Mainz, and found a hotel. From there they meant to go to Paris, then work their way south as far as Rome before flying back to the States.

They talked it over and agreed that it would be a waste to spend six weeks in Europe and not find out separately what European men were like, so the next morning each set out in a different direction, Gary to Heidelberg and Bruce to Koblenz. They planned on meeting back the hotel the next afternoon and comparing notes on how and with whom they spent the night, something they hadn’t done before.

Gary didn’t know where to cruise in Heidelberg, so he strolled along the Neckar, keeping his eye peeled for promising material. It couldn’t have been hard to read his mind, because as he walked past one good-looking man, the guy spoke up and said, “Morgen.”

Gary knew only a handful of words in German, and having no ear for accents he missed the absence of a rolled ‘r’. “Morgen,” he answered in a dreadful American accent, and held out his hand to shake in a dreadfully inappropriate cultural gesture.

“You’re kidding!” the man said. “I saw right away that you’re American – it’s obvious, as obvious as... but I guess I shouldn’t say anything about that yet. It’s too soon, isn’t it?” And he winked at him. “What a coincidence we should have the same name!”

“Oh, you were introducing yourself. I thought...”

The man laughed. “That I was saying good morning? No, my name’s Morgan.”

“Yes, I finally caught on. Gary.” And they shook hands.

“Shall we go for a beer, have a little chat, and get to know each other?”

* * *

The Bierstube had a large terrace overlooking the river. They clinked their steins together and brought them to their lips to drink. Morgan had placed his legs on either side of one of Gary’s under the table. As they took their first sip he closed his knees tightly around his thigh. It startled Gary, and he spilled his beer down his shirt and over his lap. Not a drop remained in the glass.

“Oh, shit! Just look at me! I can’t go around like this – I’ll stink like a brewery!”

“So go to your hotel, change into something else, and come back. I’ll wait.”

“My hotel is a good forty-five minutes away by train, and they don’t exactly run every five minutes.”

Where?”

“In Mainz. I came here for the day.”

“I see.”

“And I was hoping to find a date for tonight.”

“I’ll be your date, and it’s a two-block walk to where I’m staying. We can go there and I’ll toss your duds in the wash. There’s a launderette on the corner. That way you’ll be presentable tonight. I like my dates to be presentable.”

They walked to his hotel and headed for the stairs. The woman at the desk saw them and made a fuss in a spate of German Gary didn’t understand.

“What’s she so upset about?”

“No guests allowed, which is stupid since they call the place a Gasthaus. Just a second. I’ll take care of it.”

He said something to her in German, and she calmed down and let them go upstairs.

“I explained you were a friend from out of town who’d arranged to meet me here, told her what happened to your clothes, and said that you’d just wait in my room why I took them to the laundromat.”

“Won’t she check up on us?”

“Not a chance. My room’s at the end of the corridor on the right.”

Morgan sat leaning back in the one armchair and watched Gary with a dreamy gaze as he undressed. Gary felt his eyes on him and the half-smile on his face.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“You guessed it. I have cheap thoughts. Only not that cheap. I remember as a kid bending down to pick up a coin in the street and sing-songing ‘I found a penny!’ Nowadays by the time a toddler’s old enough to know not to put it in his mouth, he’s already figured out that pennies aren’t money, they’re ballast, and that their value is as imaginary as the point nine in gas prices. If you want to know what I’m thinking, I won’t take cash, nor credit either. I won’t even tell you what I’m thinking. You’ll have to come and stand here and let me show you.”

“Stand facing which way?”

“Facing me. Straight out.”

“You mean my cock? How do know I’ll be hard?”

“Do you think I’m blind? Unless you spend ten minutes taking off those boxers it won’t have time to go down.”

“I didn’t realize...”

“Like hell you didn’t. Hurry up and kick ’em off. How do you expect me to go down if it goes down?”

Finding himself so thoroughly and ostentatiously leered at – assessed, one might almost say, like human merchandise at the Amazons’ slave market – for the first time in his life Gary felt embarrassed about getting naked in front of a man he was about to have sex with. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m hard as a rock.” But he showed no sign of letting him see it. “Come on, man, we don’t have forever. If she doesn’t see me leaving with an armful of your clothes soon, Cerberus will come up to check on us. Besides, that coyness of yours isn’t terribly convincing with that raging hard-on standing up to contradict it. Take it off already!”

He slipped his boxers over his hips and down to the floor.

“That’s better. Nice. Lovely. Just look at him! He’s blushing!” He beckoned to him with a finger. “Inspection time.”

Gary obeyed. Standing between his knees and looking down at him, he could see a cylindrical bulge that seemed to run halfway down Morgan’s thigh. His eyes widened.

“Yes, I’m a big boy too, as you’ll see for yourself once I’ve had a chance to get to know this strapping young fellow. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Morgan extended his right hand, wrapped it around Gary’s penis, and gave it a hearty shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Gary said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to yours?”

“Later. This’ll have to be a quickie, thanks to your ridiculous modesty.”

He scrutinized it carefully, fondled it a bit more, slipped it into his mouth and ran his tongue around it. “Yummy. It’s been a while since I’ve tasted prime American dick.”

“Is it that different from the German variety.”

“Not really, except for the trimming, and that’s a generalization. True in your case, though. Sorry to skip the preliminaries, but Cerberus, you know. We’ll have more time later, and I’ll do it properly.”

He went at it with such gusto that Gary came quickly. Morgan watched it squirt against the wall, then gathered up all his clothes, including socks and underwear, and said, “I’ll be back in five. We’ll have a good hour before I have to go back and pop them in the dryer.”

“That long?”

“European washing machines are very thorough. Take a quick shower if you feel like it, then stretch out on the bed and wait for me. And wipe your jizz off the wall while you’re at it.”

Gary took a shower and lay down on the bed as Morgan had told him, but kept the towel tied around his waist.

“Turning modest on me again, I see,” Morgan said when he got back.

“In case Cerberus came up.”

“Like hell.”

He sat on the bed next to Gary and undid the towel. Half sat up and reached out to kiss the man, but he pushed him back and said, “Not so fast! Relax! I know how to relax you. I’ll get my lotion. It’s good stuff. You’ll love it.”

The lotion was rich and creamy, and left no residue on Gary’s skin. It smelled of lavender, almond blossoms, and other aromatics he couldn’t identify. Morgan rubbed it into his shoulders, massaging firmly, then over his chest, stomach, lower belly, and soon his hands were on Gary’s cock, running up and down the shaft with a feathery touch, stroking, squeezing. He pressed down gently on his balls with his left hand, stretching them downwards, and at the same time pushed his right up the shaft of his cock, applying the same pressure. When he got to the tip, he cupped his hand over the head and twirled his palm around it, while the fingers of his left reached underneath his scrotum and tickled his perineum. Gary moaned.

“Shhh! Cerberus!”

He drew two fingers down the length of his shaft, pressing firmly on either side of the duct, as the fingers of his left passed back over his scrotum to meet his right, drumming lightly on his testicles as if performing a piano trill. Gary moaned again.

“Shhh! Cerberus!”

His two hands climbed up the shaft of his penis, thumb over thumb, and he rubbed them rapidly back and forth right below the glans. Gary was now moaning steadily.

“You want Cerberus to barge in and interrupt us? Stifle that moaning!” He took a pillow, placed it over his face, and repeat the cock massage, starting with the scrotum stretch. From then on Gary saw nothing, he only felt. He reach down to Morgan’s thigh, ran his hand over it till he felt his cock, and squeezed it through the denim while he abandoned himself utterly to Morgan’s fondling, stroking, pleasuring.

Half asleep, Gary ejaculated almost before he felt it coming.

“Another big load. Lie still. I’ll get a warm rag and wash you off.”

He felt the warm, moist cloth on his belly and genitals, and the touch of a tongue on his nipple. His drifting consciousness heard something about a dryer as he dozed off.

He awoke to the sensation of Morgan sucking on his cock. His mouth slowly descended to the bottom of his shaft, and the tongue and cheeks pressed in on the penis lodged in his throat. Gary reached down and stroked Morgan’s hair. Was that a finger in his ass?

He writhed as Morgan drew one testicle, then the other, into his mouth. Gary felt the finger in his ass moving in tiny circles over the base of his spine. Then the tongue licked up his shaft the cap, the mouth descended around it once more, two or three times up and down, and he came. Even with the prostate massage, this orgasm was neither as intense nor long lasting as what the handjob had given him. As the mouth pulled slowly off him, he could feel Morgan swallowing his semen.

“Now I’m going to run and get your clothes – the should be dry by now – so we can get out before Cerberus has a fit.”

* * *

He took Gary on a walk to show him the sights, then they had dinner in a restaurant he liked and went to a basement gay bar for drinks afterward. The pheromones hung thick in the air, and Gary was beginning to feel horny again when Morgan looked at his watch and said, “Your last train is at a quarter to twelve. I can’t invite you to stay with me for the night, much as I’d like to. They don’t allow it. You remember Cerberus? The night watchman’s worse.”

It was much too late to risk trying to pick someone else up, and midnight was no time to start looking for a hotel. He’d just have to go back to Mainz and sleep alone, unless the same kind of thing had happened to Bruce, which he thought very unlikely. Damn! He’d have given his eye-teeth for another handjob like that, and he was dying to reciprocate! Pity he hadn’t got Morgan out of his pants. He’d have loved to get a look at that big cock of his, but all he’d had was the teasing look of its outline down the leg of his jeans and a squeeze or two.

* * *

Bruce got back from Koblenz at about eleven and was surprised to find Gary already there and the bed slept in. “No luck?”

“Plenty of luck, and right away too, but he couldn’t make a night of it.”

“Married?”

“A tourist. American, like us, with Cerberus sitting desk at his hotel.”

Bruce was disappointed his friend had ended up with an American. “I guess we’ll just have to do it again, maybe in Paris. Yours was cut, I suppose.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Whataya mean, you couldn’t tell? Mine wasn’t.”

“And?” They’d been together over a year and a half, so he didn’t to ask if he meant his date or his dick.

“Just like in the magazines. You know, a penis, only a little fancier. Feels like a penis, tastes like a penis, shoots like a penis. Not much to tell about, really.” He did have much to tell, though, and tell it he did, only not just then. Instead he went on: “What’d you get to do with yours?”

“With what? My penis or my American?”

“Both. What did you get to do with his and what did he get to do with yours?”

“His? I didn’t do shit with his except feel it through is jeans. But the thing was a monster, and rock hard. It went halfway down his thigh.”

“You call that luck?”

“He sucked me off... twice. And he gave me a handjob like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Doesn’t sound like much. You’ll have to show me sometime.” He dropped the American and went on to tell all about his fuck fest with the German lad who’d picked him up.

* * *

They spent most of the next day on the train to Paris, and got there too exhausted to do anything but find a hotel, but not too exhausted to have sex. They both came twice, so Bruce was surprised when he woke up the next morning sticking to the wet stain Gary had left on the sheets.

“Wow! You were storing a lot up! Are you sure you got off in Heidelberg? I bet you were just pulling my leg. Not fair. I was upfront with you.”

“I dreamed about the handjob that American gave me.”

“A virtuoso, huh? What was his name?”

But Gary had forgotten already, in spite of the unusual way he’d learned it.

- 2 -

There’s a lot to see and do in Paris, and they stayed almost two weeks. They saw and they did, but they did more in the bars of the Marais than they saw in the museums.

They did the usual touristy stuff their first day there – Notre-Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Elysées, the Louvre. By evening their legs ached (the Louvre is as much a hike as it is a museum), and all they wanted to do was get a bite to eat and crash. They took things easier the second day, and were up to checking out the bar scene after dinner. The first one they stumbled on had a back room where the customers could, and did, walk around naked from the waist down, and didn’t just look at the goodies. There were bowls with condoms and little packets of lube on all the tables, which a waiter, recognizable by his uniform – a thong, came around to refill every hour or so. In other words, an orgy. They didn’t play together, but enjoyed watching each other fucking and getting fucked by good-looking Frenchmen. They went back to their hotel satiated, their balls wrung out, curled up in bed together, and called it a night. They woke up in a cold puddle of Gary’s ejaculate, the last thing they expected after indulging for several hours in the back room festivities.

“If you make this a habit we’re gonna have to start sleeping in separate beds,” Bruce said. “Do you remember what you dreamed of this time? It better’ve been me.”

Gary blushed.

“Not that fucking handjob again!”

“It really was a superlative handjob.”

“I suppose his blowjobs were out of this world too.”

“No. They were good, but you’re a much better cocksucker.”

“But not as good as his handjob, huh?”

“You can’t compare blowjobs and handjobs. They’re completely different.”

“Like hell you can’t. You are. I had no idea you were that into handjobs.”

“I’m not.”

“You sure as hell are into this one.”

“Are you jealous or something?”

“No. Well, yes. I know we’re in an open relationship, but I don’t like it when you get hung up on some guy you were with.”

“I’m not hung up on the guy. I don’t even remember his name.”

“You must remember something about him.”

“He was bossy.”

“You mean dominant?”

“That too. Bossy dominant, not someone I’d want to have more than a one-night stand with. The only reason I’d want to see him again would be to get a look at his dick.”

“And get another handjob. OK, maybe you’re not hung up on him, but you’re hung up on the handjob he gave you.”

“Honestly, I don’t think about it.”

“No, you dream about it, and come all over me.”

“I thought you liked having me come all over you.”

“When I’m awake.”

* * *

They made the rounds of the bars that night and went home with a drop-dead gorgeous French stud who knew about as many words of English as the three of them together had balls in their nut sacks. They shot so many loads that their host changed the sheets before the weary threesome climbed into bed together and went to sleep, but the next morning the fresh sheets were wet and sticky, and it was clear who was responsible.

“Where did that come from?” the Frenchman asked, as if they didn’t know.

“Me,” Gary sheepishly admitted.

“After all the fucking and sucking we did last night? Wow! Do you do that every night?”

“I’m starting to wonder,” Bruce said, guessing he didn’t mean the fucking and sucking. “He has these dreams. The maids in our hotel must love us.”

It seemed that nocturnal emissions had become a habit with Gary. He didn’t have one every night, but almost. Bruce didn’t hold to his threat of separate beds. Instead he kept a damp towel on the night table for morning clean-ups. After a while they detected a pattern. Gary only had a wet dream (his “handjob dream” Bruce called it) when he’d had sex within six hours of to sleep. Bruce also noticed that when he had them Gary didn’t sleep as peacefully he usual. He moaned quietly and talked in his sleep. Unfortunately, he didn’t say anything useful, just a lot of “Oh yeah!” and “Do me baby!” and “That feels so good!”

Bruce tried to see what would happen if he beat him off when he got like that, but it only woke him up. Gary would smile, let him finish, and said thank you when he came, but after he fell asleep he’d come again.

“The only way we’re gonna put a stop to this is if I learn how to give as good a handjob as what’s his name,” Bruce said.

“I don’t know his name, but you have your work cut out for you.”

“Did he do it dry hand, or did he spit on it, or have some kind of oil...?”

“He used lotion.”

“What kind?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Did it come in a bottle or a jar or a spray can or...?”

“A bottle, I think.”

“What did it look like? Do you think you could recognize it?”

Gary shook his head.

“Did it have a particular odor?”

“It might have. I don’t remember.”

“Well, concentrate on the smell the next time you have that stupid dream of yours.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“I’ll remind you tonight.”

“I’m gonna have another tonight?”

“I want you to fuck me tonight, so my guess is you will.”

And he did.

* * *

“It smelled like some kind of flowers,” Gary said.

“What kind of flowers?”

“Flowers flowers. What do I know about how different flowers smell? All I know is that it wasn’t roses or lilac.”

“OK. Today we go to all the sex shops and sniff.”

No way on earth can one human being visit all the sex shops in Paris in a single day. They hit about a dozen of them, and picked up the smallest bottles they could find of three different products.

“I don’t think it’ll do much good,” Gary said. “I don’t think it was in the bottle. It was all in the wrist, and the thumbs too.”

“Look, do you want a handjob or don’t you?”

“You’re the one who wants to give me a handjob.”

“Eventually. But we start with you giving me one to give me some idea of what what’s his face did.”

“I don’t remember his face.”

“No, nor his name either. You just remember his handjob.”

“Vaguely. All I know for sure is he took it slow and didn’t rush it. He didn’t just go whomp whomp whomp whomp whomp.”

“Vaguely may not be good enough. He brought you off, at least?”

“Oh, yeah. He brought me off all right.”

“I kinda figured. OK, now let’s go back to the hotel and you’ll give it your best.”

They spent their last afternoon in Paris jacking each other off. That is, Gary spent fifteen minutes getting Bruce off, and Bruce wore out his arm trying to get him to come, gave up, and polished him off with a blowjob.

“I guess my handjobs don’t measure up, do they?”

“Look, Bruce, you’re my boyfriend. I don’t need anyone else on the side, least of all Mr. Handjob. Maybe it has nothing to do with him. Maybe there’s something about his bed, and it will stop once we’re in a different hotel.”

“Fat chance. It’s hard to believe you can’t remember his name.”

“I remember it meant something; it was also a word.”

“Cliff? Rock? Dick?...”

“Dick I would remember. I was hoping to get a look at it. Better yet, a mouthful.”

“Curt? Rob? Doug?”

“None of those. As I was saying, you’re the only one I want. We can drop the open part of our relationship if you’re gonna get all bent out of shape about it.”

* * *

After making sure they’d left nothing at the hotel besides Gary’s seed on their sheets, they went to the Gare de Lyon and took a train south to visit the top tourist spots in Provence – Aix, Avignon, Arles – before going on to Nice and Monte Carlo and from there into Italy. They did no cruising after Paris, but had the tacit understanding that they’d probably sample a couple of Italians before they went home.

Coming the night before still made Gary relive his Heidelberg experience as a wet dream. Bruce continued to give him handjobs on a regular basis. Gary would lie naked on the bed with his legs apart and his eyes closed, trying to reconstruct what Mr. Handjob had done, and give Bruce directions while he caressed, pulled, squeezed and twisted his genitals. Bruce made some progress and succeeding in bring him off that way most of the time, but only as a matter of principle. He found it boring. So did Gary, but he wasn’t about to tell Bruce that. Although they had the good sense not to restrict their lovemaking to beating off and took to doing it sixty-nine with Bruce’s cock in his lover’s mouth, it put a cramp in their relationship. Nothing worth breaking up over, but it was definitely annoying.

* * *

One night in their pensione in Florence, with less than a week of vacation to go, they were lying on the bed sixty-nine, trying for the they no longer knew how-manyeth time to reduplicate the now legendary handjob. Gary suddenly remembered and screamed “Morgan!” as his body arched in a spasmodic jerk and he came all over Bruce’s face.

“What did you say?”

“Morgan. That was his name – Morgan.”

“The guy who gave you the handjob?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you said his name meant something.”

“It does, in German.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re cured and can get through tonight without making our sheets all sticky. Will you reach me a Kleenex, please? I don’t dare open my eyes. You’ve inundated me.” He wiped the goo from his face. “Morgan, huh? How did you remember? Was it my technique? Have I got the knack yet? Was I as good as you crank it up to be?”

“Closer, you’re getting there. But not yet.”

“That was supposed to be a joke. Get it? ‘Cranked up’?”

They found out in the morning that the cure had been as ineffective as Bruce’s joke had been lame.

- 3 -

They had their Italians in Rome. Another couple who spoke excellent English took them home for a four-way. It proved to be their best group sex ever.

Bruno, the blond, had thick, wavy hair, green eyes, full lips, an elfin smile, a boyish face, and smooth skin to match. His tight, dimpled butt and lower abdomen shone like alabaster against the rest of his tanned, toned, almost hairless body. With every piece of clothing he pulled off he became more beautiful. His partner, dark-haired, brown-eyed Ruggiero, couldn’t match him in looks, but you’d’ve had to search for weeks to find a man with a cock as big as his. Inside his pants, his boner formed a bulge that almost reached his knee, and when he took them off what popped out was a real beauty, over eleven inches long, so thick you could barely get your fist around it, white as clotted cream and covered with a net of prominent veins, the loose foreskin pulled back beneath a crimson head the size of a smallish persimmon.

“You take that up the ass?” Bruce asked Bruno.

“Twice every night,” he boasted.

“He must rip you in two.”

Bruno bent over and spread his cheeks, and showed them a rosebud as tight as a virgin’s. “Do I look all loose and sloppy?” he asked.

“I don’t think I’d’ve had the nerve to try.”

“I’m not saying I wasn’t scared, but curiosity and animal lust got the better of me, and I lived not to regret it. Gierro’s an artist. If it hurts, it’s all in your head. He spoils me.”

“Despoils you is more like it,” Gary said. “I’m willing to give it a try, but I’ll be surprised if he gets it all in.”

“He will, and you’ll wish there were more of it. As I said, he’s an artist.”

“If you go first, and vouch for it,” Bruce said, “I’ll let him cornhole me too. Just you be up front about it. What a loss to women he’s gay!”

“I started out straight,” Gierro said, “but the ladies would take one look at my friend here and freak out. They wouldn’t let me inside them. That’s when I turned to men. They aren’t as squeamish. They’d beg me to skewer them, and I did. I’m afraid I hurt some of them, but in time I got the knack. Now I wouldn’t exchange a guy’s asshole for pussy if you paid me.”

“So I take it you’re a committed top,” Bruce said.

“He certainly has the equipment for it.”

“Not exclusively. I’m usually on top, but I like to bottom too.”

“And not just occasionally,” Bruno cut in.

“At first I was scared to try it. Then I thought, ‘If these guys can take me, I ought to be able to take them. Now I can’t get enough of it.”

Bruno had enough of it, though not nearly as much as Ruggiero. “He could take himself too if that thing of his were a little more flexible,” he said. “Want to see our collection of dildos?”

“No thanks. There’s more than enough here to keep us occupied.” By ‘more than enough’ he meant just an inch or so shy of an imperial yard of prime tenderloin among the four of them.

Bruce surprised Gary by announcing he wanted to give Ruggiero a handjob. Hadn’t he done enough of those yet? Of course this time he had the super-sized de luxe edition of the game, with a foreskin thrown in for good measure, and he’d been practicing assiduously and wanted to show off. He began by licking it all over to wet it down, and even managed to slip the entire glans head in his mouth, a feat which convinced him of the impossibility of fitting it into the other end of his alimentary canal. Moaning, he tried running his tongue around it, but there wasn’t much room left, and when he lifted his head to get on with the handjob he couldn’t open his jaw any wider to clear the flange. By the time he got it out he’d built up enough drool to keep the Roman’s unleaning tower nice and slick.

Meanwhile, Gary had Bruno fuck him to open him up for the forthcoming invasion, the likes of which he could only imagine. Just to accommodate Bruno required the preliminary insertion of a couple of fingers. His turn to fuck Bruno would have to come later in the evening; the man considered it a point of honor to take his lover’s massive engine unprepped. He would agree to no more than allowing Gary to rim the pursed lips of his pucker – “but don’t try to worm your tongue in” – so he could get familiar with it before Gierro’s battering had distended it beyond recognition. Lying beneath the rutting Italian, Gary listened to the delighted Gierro’s running commentary on the new and exciting things Bruce’s two hands had learned to do with a penis.

First change of partners. The plan was that Bruce and Gary would go sixty-nine, which Bruce assigned the additional task of keeping Gary dilated for Gierro’s intrusion, the next item on the program, and Gary would fuck Bruce to get him ready for when his turn came, though he hadn’t committed himself to the ordeal. Instead they watched the once in a lifetime spectacle of biggest cock they’d ever seen in the flesh plowing what they agreed must be the finest asshole in Rome.

Bruno bent over their dining room table and pressed his face, chest and belly against it, arms akimbo above his head to grasp the opposite corners, and legs spread almost as wide. Gierro swabbed his cleft with a generous amount of lube, kneaded his buttocks to loosen the ring of muscle at their base, and with no more preparation than the Italian equivalent of “Ready, baby?” pushed his condomless cock into the miniscule orifice with excruciating slowness. His willing victim, hovering between stupefaction and euphoria, clenched his fingers around the edges of the table till his knuckles turned white, the muscles of his legs twitched, his eyes bulged, and a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. The process of insertion lasted about three minutes. He moved steadily inwards, neither pulling back nor stopping, inch by inch by inch by inch by inch, until Bruno’s rump lodged in his pelvic girdle like pieces in a puzzle. The Americans judged that it wasn’t just the slowness that was excruciating, but Bruno showed every sign of being in a state of exaltation.

They remained motionless for a minute or two, then Gierro withdrew about three inches and rammed it back it. He went on pulling back and pushing in, each time a little faster and pulling out a little further, but always burying it to the hilt, until he was pumping furiously and over ten inches of his cock were sliding in and out of an ecstatic Bruno, whose moans and whimpers echoed through the apartment to the rhythmic accompaniment of Gierro’s ample nuts, which swung up and smacked him between the legs. For over twenty minutes he was unsparing in his ministrations, but nonetheless held back, pinching himself at the base of his balls when he felt his climax forming inside him. He had two more men to service in quick succession. Awestruck, Gary and Bruce watched them from behind, from the side, and took turns lying on the floor to view the performance from below.

At last Gierro withdrew, as large as when he had entered. What left behind looked nothing the rosebud Gary had rimmed. He thought, “If you aimed a flashlight in there, it would light up the whole interior of his sigmoid colon... and mine is next.”

“You still mean to go through with it?” Bruce asked.

Gary nodded. If he tried to speak his answer, he thought, it would come out as a croak.

Second change of partners. Bruce wanted – needed – Bruno to fuck him if was going to offer up his ass to Gierro after he’d finished with Gary, and if Gary liked it as much as Bruno promised he would he was determined to do it. Bruno, however, was too wrung out from the fuck to take an active role right away. Besides, he wanted to experience the handjob Gierro was raving about for himself. Bruce had had his fill of hand play with dicks that were only larger than average, but he did very much want to suck one since all he’d been able to do with Gierro’s was get his lips around the head, so to oblige his host he had him lie on the floor and straddled his chest for a mouth-hand combo. Bruno reciprocated by putting one of the sofa cushions under his head for leverage and eating his ass.

Gary had one request for Gierro: “Please go easy on me.”

“Relax, I know what I’m doing. It took months of getting used to each other before I could just plunge straight into Bruno the way I do now. I won’t be going in there till you’re good and ready.”

He lifted him up, lay him on the table, grabbed him by the ankles, lifted his legs and pushed them apart.

“On my back? Won’t it go in deeper in this position?”

“It can, but it doesn’t have to. I love watching the expression on a guy’s face when he gets his first twenty-nine centimeters.”

“How do they look?”

“Incredulous, beatific, transfixed.”

“Go for it.”

Gierro pulled up a chair. “When you’re ready for the operation.”

“You make it sound like major surgery.”

“That’s why I begin by swabbing the area down... with my tongue.”

“What about anesthesia?”

“Imagine there’s a numbing agent in my saliva.”

The area included the entire surface of both buttocks, the inside of his thighs, his cock and pubes, a thorough bathing of his balls, and the full length of his crevice. Gierro munched and tongued his way into butthole until every muscle in his backside went limp, opened him further with a finger or two, and ultimately (that is, penultimately) put in his thumbs and pressed gently but firmly on the sides of his sphincter until he’d stretched it enough for his tongue to fit between them, approximately the width of the persimmon capping his pole. Then he rolled on a condom, applied a thick layer of solid lubricant inside and out as if he were greasing the axles of the royal carriage, and...

And Gary gasped. His ring of muscle snapped shut around what felt like a door knob. He’d have told him to wait before shoving it in deeper, but couldn’t get the words out. They seemed to stick in his throat as Gierro’s cock had stuck in his ass. Once the initial shock had passed, he tried converting twenty-nine centimeters to inches to take his mind off the pressure (it comes to a hair less than eleven and a half), but the conditions were less than ideal for doing long division without pencil and paper.

“I know. Trust me.”

“Would I have let you get this far if I didn’t?” he answered in a hoarse whisper, and smiled weakly at the surgeon.

Gierro smiled back at him, took hold of his wrists, and pinned them to the table. “I like to look and listen. The worst is over. The pleasure will kick in any second.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He kept his promise. He began rocking his hips, just rocking, forcing nothing, and Gary’s prostate stirred at the indirect pressure, and his tunnel gradually open to the visitor knocking at the door. The visitor passed over the sill, brushed past his little magic hump, took a step back to brush by it again, then in, then out, and in and out, moving slowly down the hall toward the living room, Gary’s “Oh God, oh God, yes!” accompanying him every step of the way. He reached the living room and made himself at home.

“That’s all of it.”

“Really?” he asked, not that his guest hadn’t filled the room. He couldn’t believe he’d made it all the way.

“How do you feel?”

“Plugged.”

“Party time!” And Gierro went on an extended whirlwind tour of the house.

Compared to Gary’s shrieks of delight, Bruno’s ecstatic moans and whimpers had sounded muffled. “Get your tongue up in there,” Bruce said, “and all the fingers you can. I don’t care how much it hurts at first. I’m gonna find out what it feels like.”

Had he been able to speak, Gary could’ve answered in two words: unbearably intense. He cried out till he was hoarse, and the only sounds he emitted were staccato squeaks in time with Gierro’s metronomic pounding.

“He’s had about all he can take,” Gierro told the others.

“Now we go watch,” Bruno said. “Nobody should miss the sight of that monster slowly emerging from an asshole. You’ll want to get a good look at your buddy’s face when it pops out, and chances are you’ll never see his hole that big again.”

Gierro hadn’t taken the whole thing out since it went in, and had to jerk his hips backwards to free the head wedged behind Gary’s ring. Gary whistled when it sprang out like a salmon leaping over a waterfall propelled by its instinct to spawn, and Bruce whistled at the devastation it left behind. “Get a hand mirror. Gary, you gotta see this.”

Back to the original partners, with actives and passives switching roles. What Bruce and Gierro would do was a foregone conclusion.

“I chose what we did last time,” Gary told Bruno. Now it’s your turn.”

“Let’s smooch while I make up my mind. No one’s done any kissing yet. Are you a good kisser?”

Gary let his tongue answer for him, without words. They sank to the floor kissing. Gary said, “You meant kisses all over, right?”

“For starters.”

It took Bruno a few minutes to make up his mind. Of course, he was busy with other things. “Fuck me,” he said.

“Will you even feel it after taking Gierro?”

“If you fuck as well as you suck and kiss, definitely. What counts is what you do with it, not how big it is.”

“How big it is!” Bruce echoed, whose sphincter had just closed behind the orb on Gierro’s scepter.

“What position?”

“From behind. I’ll climb up on the table and go sixty-nine with Bruce for a close-up view of Gierro’s cock ramming him. I’ll suck him too, and he’ll see your dick going in and out of me.”

“And he’ll be able to suck you.”

“Not a chance. He’ll have enough trouble just breathing.”

Not so. Bruno’s tool proved irresistible. Bruce took it in his mouth, and because Gary’s dick

was slamming into him, Bruno fucked his face.

Gierro had serviced all three men in a row. It was their turn to service him. No one had come yet. This was to be the grand finale.

He got on the table and took the place and position Gary and Bruce had assumed. Bruno went to get two long, three-inch wide leather straps, which he attached to two hooks on either side of the light fixture above him, looped them around each of Gierro’s calves, and fastened them with snaps.

“Bondage?” Bruce asked.

“No, to make it easier for me to keep my legs up. There’re three of you. This will probably last over an hour.”

“OK,” Bruno said, “here are the rules. We took turns, ten minutes each maximum, then you have to wait until the others’ve had a chance. No just standing by to watch while in between turns; you work the rest of him over with your mouth – nipples, neck, armpits, stomach, toes, cock, balls... whatever whets your appetite. Your choice; he has no say in the matter. If he wants, he gets to play with your cock while you’re at it. That’s up to him. Same goes for sucking your balls, rimming your ass, or having his face fucked. The one thing he can’t do is call it off. You can give someone else your turn at fucking him, but you still have to participate. You get to come once – on him, not in him. I come twice, the second time in him, and the game ends. If you haven’t come yet, that’s your tough luck. I take him bareback, you wear condoms, a new one each time you fuck him. There are a dozen in that box; that should be enough. If it isn’t, we have two more boxes in the medicine cabinet. Any questions?”

“Are we allowed to use our hands?”

“Absolutely. But it addition to your mouth, not instead of it.”

“What if Gierro comes?”

“He will, more than once. We go on.”

“Can we use this as a chance to back at him for what he did to us?”

“I’d prefer you thought of it as a pay back,” Gierro said.

“Whose rules are they, yours or his?”

“House rules,” Bruno replied. “Whataya think of them?”

“That you should have them calligraphed, framed and hung on the wall.”

Nobody surrendered his turn, though they didn’t always take the full ten minutes, nor they use up all the whole box of condoms. Two were left. Gierro was drenched in jism, most of it his own. He had remarkable stamina. It had taken them over two hours.

“Do you do this often?” Gary asked.

“It’s a special privilege we reserve for guys brave enough to let Gierro fuck ’em. Not all do. When two do it’s a rare occurrence. Tonight we lucked out. You guys are great.”

* * *

Walking bow-leggedly back to their hotel towards four in the morning, Gary told Bruce that he’d given them his address and invited them to stay with him if they ever came to the States.

“If they do I’m coming over to stay with you for as long as they’re there.”

“Because you don’t like the idea of my playing without you or because you want to be part of the action?”

“Guess. How’s your butt feel?”

“Like the entrance to Tom Sawyer’s cave – reamed, dented, excavated. Yours?”

“Very spacious.”

“Getting fucked like that oughta blot out the memory of any handjob.”

“What handjob?”

You’d think that no man would ejaculate in his sleep after an evening like that, but Gary did.

“Tell me you dreamed that Ruggiero’s salami was plugging your ass,” Bruce said without conviction.

But no, he’d dreamed about the handjob.

- 4 -

Sitting on the plane, Gary said, “OK. You’ve had a German, we’ve both had a ton of Frenchies, and we’ve shared a pair of Italians. Why don’t we make it just us from now on?”

A month later Bruce moved into Gary’s apartment. Bruce gave up jacking him off, but Gary didn’t give up the wet dreams. Bruce no longer worried about them. In fact, he’d begun to find his boyfriend’s quirk a turn on. He’d smell it on the sheets before he noticed the stickiness, it made him hard, he’d go down on him, and they’d have sex for breakfast whenever they’d had sex after dinner. Half the time Gary walked around with aching balls from the two additional ejaculations.

- 5 -

A mutual friend told them about a Body Electric workshop for couples, a massage class that concentrated on mutual masturbation. According to him, they had a repertory of hundreds of different strokes, each with its own cutesy name, and some of them were out of this world. They’d had their fill of sex with other men and jacking each other off had lost its glamour, but since the class was a prerequisite for another in prostate massage, which puts the cherry on the blowjob (so to speak), they thought they give it a shot. In fact, two shots – one each.

Each participant was required to bring a sheet and a towel to sit on. They ransacked the linen closet to find two sheets with no traces of cum stains despite repeated launderings. About fifteen couples showed up for the two-day workshop, and they all had to promise not to have sex on the night in between.

“That means you can’t come when we practice the hundred strokes,” Bruce whispered.

The instructor introduced himself as Julian. He seemed to think that some of the men there would feel uncomfortable being naked in front of the others, so they spent the first morning as a mixer – a circle dance to Julian’s tom-tom, a getting-to-know-you, a little speech on yin and yang, breathing exercises, hugging, another circle dance, and touching each other in various places (heart, forehead, butt, thigh, groin) before they got around to the actually taking off their clothes. Then they got into groups of four that couldn’t include one’s partner, blindfolded one, and the other three undressed him. To put everyone at ease, Julian joined one of the sets to make a group of five and got naked first. When everyone was naked they stood holding hands in a circle, looked each over, and everybody had to say something about how he was feeling. Most made some statement about casting off one’s inhibitions, how beautiful everyone was, liberation, an affirmation of life, or communion. They sounded sincere although there was nothing very original about any of them. The morning ended with a final circle dance of thirty-one flaccid penises and twice as many balls swaying or bouncing in rhythm while the men attached to them concentrated on breathing in time with the drum beats. Then everybody got dressed and broke for lunch.

They reformed the couples they had come in for the afternoon session, which was devoted to the techniques of genital pleasuring. The next morning they would separate again to learn the other components of a full-body sensual massage, and exchange massages in the afternoon with their regular partners, culminating or not culminating in ejaculation. (Most did.) The idea was to make the pleasure last as long as possible, not to get off.

“You don’t have to orgasm every time,” Julian said He made it sound like a novel idea, though everyone there must have known that already.

After a brief discussion comparing the advantages of everyone’s favorite lubricant, everyone sat in a circle with eyes closed and played with himself, breathing to the beat of ton-tom. Then the instructor had the couples sat face to face, knees bent, feet on either side of the other’s hips, to work on penile stroking. Ejaculation was strictly forbidden. Julian moved from pair to pair, talking them through the motions, demonstrating when necessary, reminding them to concentrate on their breathing, and once or twice offering his own erection as a practice tool, the better to critique their efforts. He stressed the importance of getting to know your partner’s penis, as if it were remotely possible not to. Everyone got at least three-quarters hard and no one seemed at all embarrassed, but as leader Julian considered himself obliged to reassure them everyone that all penises are beautiful, that size doesn’t matter, and that under no circumstances should any man ever feel ashamed of other men seeing his erection or lack thereof. Gary and Bruce exchanged a look when he mentioned size. He’d have had a hard time justifying that one with Ruggiero in the class.

The strokes consisted of scrotal stretching, testicle twisting, shaft shaking, foreskin folding (an option unavailable to most of them), glans grasping, pubic patting and perineal pinching at different speeds, from various angles, applying more or less pressure, and using just about every part of one or two hands. Julian urged them to look on their ministrations as an act of worship and informed them that once they’d mastered the basics they could perform any number of them using their feet, mouths, or the crook of an elbow, and enhance the sensations with fur, feathers, felt, foam, film or foil.

Bruce, who the previous summer had jacked Gary off almost as often as he’d beaten his own meat between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, asked, “Do you get the feeling we’ve done this before?”

“Vaguely.”

From time to time Gary remarked, “Morgan did that.”

“Obviously a graduate,” Bruce said, “probably their prize pupil.”

Though they’d brought each other almost to the point of orgasm several times in the course of the afternoon, neither Bruce nor Gary had a wet dream that night. Bruce, however, did dream about handjobs.

They learned a lot the next morning. They kept switching partners, one for the neck and shoulders, one for the back, another for the legs and butt, one just for the feet (Julian considered the feet especially important), another for the head, arms and hands, and one for the chest and abdomen. They’d covered the penis the afternoon before. Then they broke for lunch and came back to exchange ninety-minute massages with their significant others, less if final release came sooner. About one-fifth of them did not experience ejaculation. Gary was one of those who did, and that night he dreamed about the handjob and creamed all over Bruce.

* * *

This being a story – you do realize it’s fiction, I hope – it requires closure. We can’t let Gary go on dreaming about handjobs for the rest of his life, can we? On the other hand, why not?

The following year they heard from Gierro and Bruno. They’d decided on the spur of the moment to spend their month’s vacation in the States and had booked a flight to and from the city where Bruce and Gary lived. They apologized for the short notice, but could they stay with them a couple of days on their way there and back?

“We’ve planned a short trip ourselves, so you can only stay two nights when you get here. Make it five days on your back and we’ll invite some friends over for a party. If you promise to bring your straps, we’ll put hooks on our ceiling.”

They got an email from Body Electric announcing another workshop in their city with the same instructor that coincided with the weekend their Italian friends would be leaving. They got in touch with Julian and asked how far in advance he’d be there.

“Wednesday.”

“Great. We’ll have friends from Italy visiting us and want to throw a goodbye party for them. Would you like to join us?”

“A party or an orgy?”

“A bit of both. Are you allowed? I mean, you’re having been our instructor and all.”

“No problem, so long as we have no sexual contact for three months after the workshop.”

“There’ll be some rules, by the way. It isn’t a game if you don’t have rules.”

“Sounds intriguing. Will any of the guys from your workshop be there?”

“We haven’t much kept in touch with any of them, but there are two or three we run into occasionally. We could invite them.”

“No drugs?”

“No drugs, just champagne.”

“My partner’s coming with me as my assistant. May I bring him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

- 6 -

They were exactly thirteen men at the party, by no means an unlucky number: Bruce and Gary, Gierro and Bruno, Jon, Chuck, Donny, Chris, Drew, Pete, Nigel, Julian, and his partner, Morgan. Gary was almost sure he recognized him, and the name clinched it. Bruce saw his smile and asked with a look, “Mr. Handjob?” Gary answered with a nod.

Morgan didn’t remember Gary. He wasn’t very good with names and kept mixing everyone up except for his hosts and the two who had Italian names. They cracked open the champagne, and Gary laid down the first rule of the evening. Going in reverse alphabetical order, each man had to toast the person he wanted for his first partner, “because if we started at the beginning of the alphabet Bruce would go first, and we hosts shouldn’t get to choose at all. Pete?”

“Who are the tops?”

“We’re all versatile, I think, except for you. I forgot you were a committed bottom.”

“So am I,” Donny said.

“And Morgan? I don’t know about you, but since you’re Julian’s partner I’m guessing you’re versatile.”

“Versatile,” Morgan confirmed.

“OK, I choose Jon.”

“Nigel?”

“I choose you. I won’t make it a secret that that was one of the things that convinced me to come here tonight. I usually just do one on one, but for you I made an exception.”

“You should have said something earlier. Bruce and I do threesomes.”

“I see that now. Who’s next in the alphabet?”

“Morgan.”

As luck would have it, Morgan said, “One of the Italian dudes.”

“We’ll make it Gierro. Are you OK with that, Bruno?”

Bruno answered a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

“Your turn, Julian. C’mon, guys, don’t leave Donny out just because he only bottoms. I can vouch for the fact that he has a delicious little bubble butt. We go back a long time, Donny and I, from before I hooked up with Bruce here. Besides, you’re only choosing your first partner. I promise you that every last one of us is gonna get fucked tonight.”

“OK, you convinced me,” Julian said. “I’ll take Donny.”

“You’ve lucked out, Donny. Julian’s a professional.”

“You make me sound like a hustler.”

“A professional giver of pleasure. He teaches for Body Electric.”

Drew chose Bruno.

“There are three guys left. Whoever doesn’t get chosen makes up the rules for the next game.”

“Then Chris can have my turn,” Chuck said. “I want to make up the rules. Today’s my birthday.”

“That means I get Bruce by default, so I don’t get to choose either.”

“Is anyone willing to oblige Chris and swap the partner of their choice for Bruce?”

“Wait a minute! I only said I didn’t get to choose. I didn’t say I wouldn’t have chosen Bruce if we started at the beginning of the alphabet.”

“You’d have been too late. Bruce would’ve chosen already.”

“I’d have chosen Chris,” he said.

“Good. Is everybody happy? Now we’ll drink a birthday toast to Chuck, and then I explain how the first game works. To Chuck! Many happy returns on his... how old are you anyway?”

“Thirty-six.”

“On his thirty-sixth birthday.”

“To Chuck!”

“Now here’s what we do. Not so fast, Jon! The object of the game is to get us all out of clothes one at a time and performing for an audience.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Jon said.

“Bruce, will you bring out more champagne while I explain the rules? Thanks. The game is called “Foursomes”. I designate one person to go first. We blindfold him, then three people undress him and work him over any way they want. He has to remain totally passive.”

“I like this game,” Julian said. “I’m going to use it at one of our week-long retreats.”

“Even the ‘any way they want’ part?”

“No, I couldn’t get away with that. Which three get the honors?”

“The guy he chose chooses the second, and the third is his permanent partner if he has one. If he doesn’t, Chuck chooses, since it’s his birthday.”

“And for the next foursome?”

“The guy I designated chooses someone from the nine who still have their clothes on.”

“Do the three who do him also have to among those who are dressed?”

“No, since the second may have chosen one of the first batch as a partner.”

“How long does each foursome last?”

“Till the lucky guy who’s being serviced squirts.”

“Are there any other rules?”

“One, safe sex only, your long-term partner included. Two, no whipping it out while you watch unless you’re already naked. Three, champagne’s expensive, so if anyone gets it in his head to empty a bottle over someone and lick it up, it gets poured on the birthday boy.”

“I was going to make that part of my game,” said Chuck.

“The game ends when there’s only one man left with his clothes on. He’s the last passive. The others rush at him en masse, pull off his clothes off, and do whatever they want to him. Anything goes.”

“May I make one request?” Donny asked.

“What’s that?”

“To be last.”

“If the birthday boy’s OK with it.”

“Please, Chuck.”

“You got it, Donny.”

“OK, everyone, party and play! I designate... I designate... Morgan, because he’s the only one here I don’t know. He chose Gierro, and Julian’s his partner. Gierro, who’ll be the third?”

“You will, for thinking up such a great game.”

They blindfolded Morgan and undressed him. Gary admired the eight-plus inches of cut dick he’d waited more than two years to see and suck. He beckoned to Bruno and whispered in his ear, “Go get the straps out of your suitcase.”

“I knew you would say that.”

Morgan lay naked on the table, his legs raised and immobilized in the straps.

“You’re the one he chose, Gierro,” Gary said, “so you decide what we do to him.”

“First we all caress him gently all over with our hands. Then he waits while we undress each other. Then I fuck him while you two go to work on him with your mouths.”

“And then?”

“Then he’ll have had enough.”

“Is he very big?” Morgan asked.

“Very.”

Julian put his hand on Gierro’s crotch. “I hope this guys knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh, he does,” Bruno said.

“He does,” Gary seconded.

“He really, really does,” Bruce agreed.

The suspense of waiting for them to undress was hard on Morgan. “Are you naked yet?” he asked. “Is he is as big as they let on, Julian?”

“Bigger. Massive.”

“Be patient,” Gary said. “It won’t be much longer.”

“Do mean we’ll get to him soon or that this thing has more growing to do?” Julian asked.

“Both.”

What have I got myself into?” Morgan whined.

While Gierro was bathing his ass and balls to ready him for the coming onslaught, Gary was sucking on his dick, and Julian was covering his face with kisses and telling him not to worry, Bruce came up to Gary and whispered, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Later. I’m busy.”

* * *

Gierro’s penetration was spectacular, exquisite torture for Morgan, who yelled “Oh, Jesus!” and “Save me, Julian!” and “No, don’t save me!”, then lay there in a stupor. It was exquisite torture for Julian, whom Morgan grabbed by the balls and squeezed until Gierro had him fully dilated. Gary sucked him off, straddling him to watch close up as had Bruce when Gierro fucked him back in Italy. Julian stood behind him, his own balls well out of reach, and massaged his shoulders to keep him relaxed until he lifted his head and took Gary’s cock in his mouth. Then the only part of Morgan he could get at was his feet, so he massaged them, but the others said that was the same as just standing by. He told them that feet are important, but they continued to protest, so he went to the other end of the table and fucked Gary. It was exquisite torture for the nine men watching who weren’t allowed to take out their dicks and play with themselves.

A shudder seized Morgan’s body, his back arched, and he let go of Gary’s cock to scream his way through his orgasm. Gary lifted his head, cum dripping from his mouth, and said, “Time to designate the next victim!”

They sat Morgan up. He was reeling and in no condition to designate someone; he could barely see. He pointed at random and said, “Him.” Him was Pete.

Pete had chosen Jon, who chose Chuck (“Because he’s the birthday boy”), and since he didn’t have a steady partner Chuck got to choose the third.

Who’ll it be, Chuck?”

“Well, Pete claims to be a dedicated bottom...”

“I am!”

“...so let’s make it Gierro.”

“Does only Gierro get to fuck him?” Jon asked.

“No way! You and I open him up first.”

Six people still had their clothes on and had to restrain themselves during Gierro’s second fuck of the evening. Gary sidled up to Bruce and asked, “So what were thinking? That Mr. Handjob was about to become Mr. Good-and-fucked?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. I was wondering if he’ll be like you for the rest of his life, if when he falls asleep horny he’ll dream and cream. Don’t you think he deserves it?”

“Try to see to it he gives me a handjob. Maybe it’ll cure me. Pass the word on to Gierro and Bruno. One of you may get to call the shots tonight or get to make up a game.”

“Will do.”

* * *

People kept choosing Gierro, so it took five foursomes to get everyone naked except Donny. Since the spectators demanded variety, not all of them used the straps. Nigel designated Bruno after his ordeal, and Drew, whom he had chosen as partner, agreed to Chuck’s request and made the fourth the birthday boy. After that, only Bruce, Chris and Donny were still left, and they’d promised Donny he’d be last. Bruno designated Chris.

No one was surprised that Donny’s boxers were sopped with precum when they pulled his clothes off. By then they’d polished off the champagne, and Chuck had to think up a different game.

“Everyone Gierro fucked fucks Gierro, and those who haven’t beat off on him. The game ends at the stroke of midnight, whether he comes or not. If he does, we all lick it off him and then go back to fucking.”

“I love this man!” Gierro exclaimed. “Everyone I’ve ever fucked, or just those I fucked tonight?”

“As long as you’ve fucked them sometime in your life, they belong in the fucking group.”

That meant Bruce, Bruno, Chris, Donny, Gary, Morgan, Nigel and Pete. Pete and Donny asked to be excused as committed bottoms, but Chuck said they had to put it in at least once and give a couple of pokes. The rest of the time they could suck on his engine as a joint effort.

Donny decided that he was a versatile bottom after a little pumping, and Pete had Gierro’s cock all to himself. And Gierro came four times, so everybody had a taste.

* * *

The party moved into the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. As they ran out of juice, little by little the games involved less sex and more making out. (Postplay, not foreplay.) They played “Talking him out of the closet” and “How many naked men can fit in the shower?” and “List his assets.” Morning found them lying around the apartment in naked tangles, some asleep, one or two couples necking, others idly playing together or by themselves.

Those who had jobs called in sick. They sounded so dazed and lethargic that their boss or secretary or supervisor took their word for it, no questions asked. Gary put up coffee. Bruce phoned a breakfast place down the block and talked them into delivering scrambled eggs, bacon and toast for thirteen. He had the presence of mind to tell them not to have a female deliver it.

A cute kid called Eric delivered their breakfast and helped get out the dishes and set it all on the table. He took the thirteen naked men, their hangovers, the strong smell of cum and other unmistakable remnants of an orgy in stride, except for the straps hanging from the ceiling. He couldn’t take his eyes off those.

He refused Bruce’s generous tip. “What I’d really like to do is stay, but I have to get back to the job.”

“The party’s just about over anyway, but if you’d like a quick blowjob or something...”

“Thanks, but I have to work.”

“Maybe you’d like to get fucked by our Italian friend here. He’s ravaged the rest of us. Haven’t you, Gierro.”

“I’ll pass on that too. Here, take my phone number and invite me to your next party. That’s all the tip I want.”

* * *

“Now that we’ve had a good breakfast and everyone’s feeling fit again,” Gary said, “why don’t we play one more game before you all get dressed and go home?”

Groans all around. They couldn’t possibly play another game.

“I think we should play ‘Help clean up’,” Julian said. “Everyone stays naked until the place is spotless.”

“I think we should play two games,” Bruno suggested. “First ‘Help clean up’ and then ‘Give our hosts a handjob in token of our appreciation’. This has been one great party. How about it, Bruce and Gary? Do you think you can handle being handled?”

They could indeed.

“Then leave it up to the professionals,” Julian said. “Morgan and I give classes in manual pleasuring.”

“I’d like Julian to do me,” Bruce said. “Are you OK with Morgan, Gary?”

They played three games, not two, the third being a repeat of “How many naked men can fit in the shower?”.

* * *

Closure. Morgan gave Gary a third handjob and never knew it wasn’t the first. This time he didn’t forget him. He didn’t forget Gierro either.

Gary and Bruce broke up a few months later and never threw another party, but after they broke up Bruce called Eric, and the two of them dated for a few months. Gierro and Bruno are still together, and Julian and Morgan are too.

Gary still dreams about handjobs and comes in his sleep after sex, and will for the rest of his life. He thinks of it as something to fall back on when he gets older and the opportunities for sexual encounters become rarer. But he’s wrong. No sex, no wet dreams.

Posted: 12/07/07