Making A Deal
By: Morris Henderson
(Copyright 2007 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

It was unusually hot for late June and, by afternoon, I left the rest of the yard work for another time. I came into the air-conditioned house, opened a beer and sat back in the recliner. I grabbed a magazine--one of my favorite issues because all of the guys in it seemed to be just my type. Of course, I knew I would soon be horny as hell and would have to have a good jerk. I was right, my cock started to swell. But before it got uncomfortable inside my cut off jeans, the doorbell rang.

"Damn," I mumbled as I went to the door. I gave thought to ignoring the doorbell but opened the door anyway. I was glad I did for I saw what could have been a model in the magazine I had been reading. Young--maybe 20--with dark hair, nearly black eyes, and a trim but obviously solidly built body. He wore sneakers, no socks, loose shorts, and a snug Tee Shirt with an ID badge pinned just above a clear imprint of a nipple under the tight shirt. I wanted to invite him in just to have more opportunity to feast my eyes on this young beauty.

With a captivating smile, he asked for a donation to some worthy cause or another. I didn't get all the details of his pitch because I was still marveling at how much this guy resembled several of my favorite pictures in the magazine I had been reading.

Suddenly, I realized he had stopped talking and was waiting for an answer. More out of habit than anything, I told him I was tapped out and couldn't afford my bills, much less a donation to his cause. That was not true--I'm not hurting for cash--but that line seemed to get rid of solicitors in the past. Then I regretted the quick, habitual brush-off because the attractive stud might walk away.

His smile dimmed only slightly before he asked if I could spare a glass of cold water. "It's terribly hot and I'd be grateful for a drink," he said, ever so politely.

"Step in," I invited, relieved that my thoughtless remark had not driven him away. "Have a seat and I'll get you something. Water? Beer? Ice Tea?"

"Water's fine," he replied, "just cold water."

For the next five minutes, we chatted about the difficulties he had encountered as he went door to door. It was not volunteer work; he got a minimum hourly rate -- "Less than minimum wage," he complained -- plus a small percentage of the donations over a minimum quota.

He explained the charity to me and was reasonably persuasive in citing the good work that it did. I was impressed not only with his knowledge of the charity and the manner in which he explained it. He was articulate, sincere, and candid. What most impressed me, however, was his poise: confident and self-assured but not the least arrogant.

"It's unusual for a charity to have paid solicitors, isn't it?" I asked as much to get information as to keep him talking while I admired his behavior and, of course, his body.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation, "but it's not that much more expensive than other, larger charities incur to solicit donations. There are a lot of college students like myself who need summer work."

"You're in college then?"

"Yes sir," he replied. "I need to finance my final year of college."

His expression turned suddenly glum and he confessed, "But I'm about to get fired if I don't quit first because my donations aren't up to what they should be. Not even enough to cover my base pay." As he elaborated on some of the difficulties, his desperation was increasingly apparent.

"If you don't mind my asking, what's your quota?" I asked, again for information and to prolong the opportunity of talking to him.

He seemed not at all reluctant to reveal the information. "Fifty dollars a day. Doesn't seem like much but there's nobody home at most houses and I get a brush off from those who are at home."

"Like the one I gave you?" I said, feeling guilty.

"Believe it or not," he replied, "I get a lot worse. Some people are downright rude."

"So I gather you're not making quota," I said.

"No. And if I don't meet quota I get only 100 dollars a week ."

"Not much pay for tough work," I mused.

"Better than flipping burgers," he said wryly but added, "Or at least I thought it would be...working outdoors...meeting people. With the hot weather, rude people, and frustrations, I'm not so sure."

As we continued to chat, I was only half listening. Although he was amiable and obviously intelligent, it was his lithe body had captured my interest. He sat in a wing-back chair across from me and I found my eyes were constantly checking out his attractive face (not cute but definitely appealing) and, of course, his body. His Tee shirt was a size too small so it clung to his chest to reveal a slim but solid body. His shorts were too loose to reveal any hint of what he might be carrying in his crotch but my imagination filled in the details. And the sight of his slightly fuzzy legs disappearing up into his shorts was almost hypnotizing. I found myself getting horny just looking at him sitting comfortably in the chair.

I realized I might be a little obvious in my lustful glances so I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. We continued our conversation, now talking mostly about his college studies while I became as impressed with his drive and intelligence as I had first been with his stunning appearance. All of which added to the allure of this young man who had invited himself into my life.

We talked for several more minutes, which was fortunate because it gave my raging cock time to settle down and not embarrass me if I had to stand up. I found it remarkably easy to make conversation. He must have, too, because his body language was signaling that he was totally at ease. When he spread his knees apart, however, I stole quick, lustful glances but tried not to be too obvious about what really interested me. It was not a good enough view to see anything more than thighs but those fuzzy legs suggested that he had an ample bush of pubic hair, something that, I must confess, turns me on. Although I was able to control my eyes and expression, I could not control my thoughts of what might be hidden under his clothes. My imagination and lust were moving into high gear. As he talked, I was mentally undressing him. And I could feel my cock begin to tighten again.

I forced myself to pay attention to what he was saying just in time to hear the full force of his frustration erupt as he blurted out, "I've tried my best. I just can't seem to make this thing work. I'd do anything to save my job."

Was he just acting? Was he playing on my sympathy to get a donation? Maybe. If so, he was good. Very good. If this was part of his rehearsed pitch to get a donation out of me, it almost worked. But I was not ready to concede yet.

Suddenly, two things seemed to fuse in my mind. His frustration about keeping his job merged with my growing lust and I began to devise a plan.

"You'd do anything?" I asked.

"Anything," he said emphatically.

"You'd better be careful," I said, not in warning but to test his sincerity. "Somebody might take you up on that."

"What do you mean?" he asked. The innocence of the question came as a surprise and told me to go slowly in my quickly conceived plan.

"You said you'd do anything."

"Yeah."

"Suppose somebody asked you to do something . . . unusual."

"I'd probably do it. Nothing illegal but I'd probably do just about anything."

"Let's see if you really mean that," I began. "What's your average donation, when you get one?"

"Five dollars. Sometimes ten. But most people just turn me away." Then a quizzical look crossed his face as though he was trying to see where I was going with my question.

"OK," I continued, "Here's a deal. I'll give you a twenty dollar donation if you undress in front of me. Down to your underwear." I searched his face for a reaction. His eyebrows rose just briefly, in surprise, but then he just looked at me quizzically. Obviously, he was trying to assess my offer.

Finally, he said, "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am," I responded. "You said you'd do anything. Were you serious?"

"I don't know. I mean, yeah I was serious. But that's pretty weird." His words came out fast, as though he wasn't thinking about what he was saying. But with a slight embarrassed look, he said, "Weird is not what I meant."

"Unusual?" I offered.

"Yeah. Unusual."

I pressed my offer. "Unusual. But would you do it?"

He seemed, for the first time, to be slightly uncomfortable. "Well, yeah." He was speaking thoughtfully now. "I guess I'd do it," he finally said.

"OK, another deal. I'll double that if you strip down naked." I paused for a response. The pause was longer, his expression a little more quizzical. He began to be fidget nervously. I could tell that he was evaluating the prospect of exposing himself against the risk of losing his job. Meanwhile, I was trying to decide how to convince him if he declined my offer. We just looked at each other for less than a minute but it seemed like forever to me. I hoped that he would accept my offer but feared that he wouldn't. Finally, he admitted that he would do that, too.

He squirmed a little in the chair, signaling that he was growing increasingly uncomfortable. I felt that I would have to say something to relieve his anxiety. "I know that I'm asking you to do something very unusual. I understand your hesitancy. But there's no harm in doing it. It's not illegal. No one will ever know. And you'll leave here with a donation."

"Are you gay?" he asked, bluntly.

I answered his question with another. "Would a straight guy be asking you to strip naked? Yes, I'm gay and that means I appreciate the beauty of a man's body. Even with your clothes on, I can tell that you have a beautiful body. I'd just like to see it and admire it."

"So all I have to do is get naked?" he asked.

"That's the deal," I replied. Then, pushing my luck, I added, "Unless you want an even bigger donation." He just starred at me, probably wondering and possibly worrying about what I meant.
To clarify, I said, "Suppose I threw in another twenty dollars if you got yourself hard. Would you do that for sixty dollars?" Another thoughtful pause, this one considerably longer.

He sat there wordlessly. I let him digest the information that I was interested seeing his body and that showing it to me would relieve as least some of the pressure he faced in his job. When the silence became awkward, I restated my offer. "Sixty dollars to strip and get hard. That's more than your day's quota. I won't lay a hand on you. Strip, get hard, you're on your way with a big donation."

The delay in his response made me think that I had gone too far, that my offer was too aggressive, too quickly made. Breaking the awkward pause, he said, "I suppose so. No harm in that, I guess." I was relieved to see that he agreed and didn't just get up and leave.

He had nibbled at the bait. I wondered how much more of it he would take. "You said you'd do anything," I continued. "You've agreed to get naked and hard. Would you jerk yourself off and cum for another twenty dollars?'

"Jeez, I don't know," he mumbled. "I know I said I'd do anything ... but that's more than unusual; it's weird."

I saw him plainly--in my mind's eye--standing in front of me jerking off. That was enough to make me forge ahead. "You said you'd get naked, get hard. Isn't jerking the next logical step? After all, every guy does it. The only difference is that I would be watching you. Wouldn't that be worth a big donation?"

Surprisingly, a huge grin crossed his face. "You're not really making an offer, are you? You're just testing me about what I said...that I'd do anything. Right?" His tone was hopeful, as though he wanted to retreat from what he had said he would be willing to do.

I looked at him intently as I said, "No, that's a real offer. You want a big donation. I want to watch you strip and cum. We'll both get what we want." I paused and watched his reaction closely. I was afraid he would reconsider and bolt for the door. But as I studied his reaction, I could see that my offer had sunk in. I could see that he was debating with himself about accepting it. Either he would or wouldn't. I hoped he would.

I got my answer when he stood up, without a word, and started to take off his shirt. I was elated; I was going to see this delectable young man perform. But I decided to go a raise the stakes. "Wait. There's more to my deal if you're interested. I'll double my donation if you let me undress you, let me get you hard, and let me jerk you off."

He sat back down and looked at me. It was almost a stunned look on his face. Maybe I had pushed my luck. Maybe he would be turned off by the new offer. After all, stripping and jerking is one thing--even with somebody watching--but letting another guy do it to you is something else.

I had begun to regret my abrupt escalation of terms, fearing that he would simply leave, but he looked straight at me and asked, "Sixty bucks to jack off, 120 if you do it to me?"

"Right," I said, suddenly realizing the amount of money I had thrown into the pot of this game of strip poker. It was far more than I had intended. But I didn't have any big regrets because this was an awesome young man and I desperately wanted to see all of him. I had raised the stakes of the game considerably. Would he fold his cards and leave? Had I scared him off completely? Apparently, the stakes seemed a little high for him because he looked worried. I frantically searched for something to say that would overcome his obvious hesitation at the new offer.

"It's almost four o'clock," I said. "How much longer would you be out in the heat going door to door?"

"Only an hour or so. People don't like to be interrupted at dinner." Hints of his pleasant expression and comfortable conversational manner began to return.

"And how many donations would you get in that time?" I pressed.

"Probably none," he confessed.

I played my trump card in this high stakes game. "What have you got to lose by staying here? Nothing. What will you gain by going out into the heat? Nothing. But stay here, take me up on my offer, and you'll get that big donation. And--who knows?--you might even enjoy it. So which will it be: you do it alone or let me do it?" I felt a little smug about my question. I'd narrowed his choice to jerking alone or being jerked--ignoring the obvious third choice of simply leaving.

I could almost hear him debating with himself. His hesitation was agony for me. Just as I was about to conclude that I had pushed things too far and too fast, he said, "OK. You got a deal. You can jack me off." I smiled at him. To my great relief, he smiled back although it was not as natural as it had been before the negotiation.

I led him to my bedroom and slowly pulled his shirt up over his head, tossing it onto the bed. His trim torso, with its coating of perspiration, glistened. His prominent nipples invited a gentle massage, which I administered gently and briefly. They responded by protruding even further. I ran my hand down his chest to his navel where, to my great satisfaction, I found some fuzzy hair that got thicker as it approached the waistband of his shorts. To prolong my enjoyment, I was deliberately slow in lowering his gym shorts to reveal his white cotton briefs. The shorts fell to his ankles, giving a better view of a very respectable basket in his crotch. His briefs, like his shirt, was probably smaller than they should have been. I saw the outline of a sizable cock.

While he was quite talkative downstairs, he was now saying nothing. I tried to put him at ease by letting him know, in my most reassuring voice, what I was going to do next. I complimented him on his body--which was easy to do. It seemed to help; he began to relax a little.

I moved to stand behind him (and took the opportunity to straighten out my pained and very hard cock). I slid my hands under the waistband of his briefs, moving first toward his butt cheeks for a good feel and then forward where my fingers found his pubic hair to be as profuse as I had imagined. It was slightly moist from perspiration and provided a very sensual feeling as I teased it for just a moment. I then moved around in front of him and began pulling down his briefs, stopping long enough to admire the sight of that thick black bush of slightly moist hair. Pulling his briefs down further revealed, inch by impressive inch, a large uncut cock that dangled in front of a pair of very low-hanging balls. I was somewhat disturbed that my gentle attention was not arousing him but those thoughts gave way to the realization that I could fondle him longer to get him fully erect. I invited him to lie on the bed, which he seemed quite willing to do. I removed his shoes and then his shorts and briefs from around his ankles. I took a moment to admire his trim, naked body lying on my bed completely available to me.

He was still not aroused; his cock lay limply across one thigh. I decided to inject a new element into the situation. "Look," I began, "you're nude and I'm not. Mind if I get more comfortable?" I wanted to free my constrained hard-on but also thought that I might make him more comfortable or even more aroused to see me strip.

"Go ahead," he said without any hesitation.

I'm not an exhibitionist nor do I have any experience as a stripper. But I've seen enough to copy some of the basic moves. My undressing was deliberately choreographed to tease but, I hoped, not too obviously so. He watched me and, when I dropped my briefs and my cock stood at attention, I heard him quietly gasp.

I sat on the bed next to him, making sure that my cock was visible, and started to work on his youthful body. My massaging--of thighs, balls, and cock--seemed to have little effect. His cock was not totally limp but neither was it hard. I was thankful for the extended time with this young beauty but was also eager to see his cock at attention and spray a load.

He meekly mumbled an apology and I tried to reassure him that it was OK. I asked, "This is a new experience for you?"

"Yeah."

"Your girlfriend never does this for you?" I asked.

"No, but I often wish she would."

"Close your eyes," I suggested, "and imagine that it's your girlfriend giving all her attention to your manliness. Try to forget it's me. What you feel is your girlfriend."

That helped a lot, as he lay there, eyes closed, a smile crossed his face, and his cock began to swell. Clearly, he was--in his mind--with his girlfriend. And he was getting very aroused. Because of his fantasizing, I decided to depart from the terms of my deal. I started to lick around his balls. The smell of his sweaty crotch just about put me over the edge. I looked up to check his reaction. He was looking down and obviously surprised that I was licking his balls.

"Close your eyes," I reminded him. "Imagine your girlfriend's tongue and mouth."

His eyes closed and he was smiling broadly. I moved up and licked his cock, which responded by swelling and becoming even stiffer. I circled the crown of his rod with my tongue. He was obviously aware it was my mouth and not his girlfriend's on his organ but he wasn't objecting so I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock and began to take more and more into my mouth. His groans were all the consent I needed to go on. His cock responded by growing rock-hard, longer, and fatter. I gave this young tool perhaps the first blowjob of its life.

All his hesitation before we started was history. He was now fully into the action and was starting to thrust his hips and moan softly. When his balls contracted and his humping my mouth got vigorous, I knew he was about to cum. I knew I would get a mouthful of hot cream. It's impossible to say who enjoyed his orgasm more.

As he lay on my bed regaining his strength--eyes still closed--I watched his mighty cock relax. He opened his eyes and murmured, "Wonderful."

"Just relax a minute," I said, "I'll be right back." I moistened a towel in the bathroom and returned. "It's been a scorcher today. Let me give you a sponge bath. Just relax and enjoy it."

It was not a favor to him. I wanted to prolong my admiration of his naked body. As I gently wiped him down, I was delighted to see his cock swell--not to erection but clearly in enjoyment of my attention.

As we dressed, he thanked me for an awesome experience. I assured him that I enjoyed it too.

Once dressed, he sat on the edge of the bed. "First time I've had a gay experience," he said. "It was...well...better than I thought it would be."

"I'm glad," I answered. "Thinking of your girlfriend seemed to turn you on."

He looked at me. I sensed he was groping for words. Finally, "Yes, I have a girlfriend. But we've never got really ... intimate. She's a wonderful girl but a bit of a prude. So thinking of her helped me enjoy."

He paused. He seemed to want to go on. I just waited.

Finally he said, "There's more to it. You see, my girlfriend's older brother is gay. He came out about two years ago. I guess it devastated his family. His father is a big corporate lawyer. He was a macho jock in school. Having a gay son was a huge blow to him. He's only just now talking to his son. It was my girlfriend who accepted him first. They were always quite close. She helped her parents through their pain. She's told me a lot about her brother but I've always wondered what it is like to be . . . to be gay. So I guess I just wanted to find out for myself."

He looked at me with an expression that said, do you understand?

"That solves a mystery," I said. "I wondered why you didn't head for the door when I made my offer."

"I confess that at first I was torn between the donation and the thought of . . ." His voice trailed off.

"The thought of sex with a guy?" I offered.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"So what do you think of sex with a guy now?" I asked.

"It's nothing like I imagined," he said.

"Meaning?" I probed.

"Well," he began hesitatingly, "I didn't feel ... I mean .,, Don't take offense. I didn't feel sick or perverted."

"Nor should you." I assured him. "Gay sex is natural. Not common but natural."

He let my message sink in before saying, "So I guess I've learned something."

"Yes," I replied, "You've learned. You've had one lesson. But there's still a lot you don't know."

He smiled, stood, and we went downstairs. I handed him the promised donation. He accepted it saying, "I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks." At the front door, he turned and surprised me with a question. "You said there's a lot I don't know. Like what?"

I didn't know exactly what he was asking but answered him anyway. "Being gay involves attitudes, values, and the whole issue of self-concept. It's wanting to be treated as a man but not a gay man or a queer."

He was thinking about my answer and eventually said, "Yeah, I guess I'll never learn that. But," he was groping for words again, "what about sex? You said I had a lot to learn."

I chuckled. I couldn't help myself. "You've had a blowjob from a guy. No big deal. But the range of intimacy includes a lot of ways to show affection . . . and, yes, a lot of ways to enjoy sex."

"I've heard about them," he said, "but I guess I'll never really know about them unless--like just now--I experience them."

That was an opening I couldn't let pass. "Right. And if you ever want to have another lesson, you know where I live."

His broad smile told me that I would see him again.

A week later, when the doorbell rang, I saw a pickup truck in the driveway. My young friend, Jimmy, was back at my door and greeted me with, "I've got another job now. I was in the neighborhood. I was hoping you might spare a cold glass of water."

I hope I didn't appear too eager as I invited him in. We shared a few beers as he told me about his new job with a landscaping company. All the while, I was recalling how it was with him on my bed and his cock in my mouth.

Abruptly changing the subject, he said, "Thanks for the beer. I wonder if I could ask another favor."

"What's that?" I asked.

He sounded hesitant and a little embarrassed as he said, "A little tutoring? Like before? If it's not too much to ask, that is." Of course, I immediately told him that it would suit me just fine.

In the next couple of hours, he got the second blowjob of his life ... and gave his first. Over the summer, he stopped by every week or so for, as he came to discretely put it, "a little diversity training."

When school started in the fall, he had moved in with me. He told his parents and girlfriend that I had a spare room and it was much less expensive than his own apartment. He never told them that we shared a bed every night or the kind of education he was getting.

It was while he lived with me that my doorbell rang again and I was surprised to see Mitchell, a friend from long ago. Mitch had taken a job with a real estate developer in Atlanta, which broke up a relationship that I had thoroughly enjoyed.

"I've got a late flight beck to Atlanta," he explained, "and I hoped that you wouldn't mind if I stopped by."

"Not at all," I replied.

We spent about an hour catching up on each other's lives since we parted. In that conversation, I explained how Jimmy came to live with me -- at least for a while. I didn't mention anything about our sex nor did Mitch ask; he was too discrete and honorable for that. I'm sure, however, that he concluded that Jimmy was more than a house guest.

Mitch gave me one of his famously bewitching looks and asked, "Would you be interested in a little sack time with me? For old time's sake?"

"I would love to, of course, but Jimmy is due home from work at any minute and it would be awkward."

"I understand," Mitch replied, obviously as disappointed as I was.

Suddenly, however, I had a brilliant idea. It might not work but it was worth a try.

Moments later, Jimmy walked in the door. He seemed a little surprised but not necessarily disappointed, that I had company. "Jimmy," I said, "This is Mitch, an old friend of mine. He's got a few hours before his plane back to Atlanta. Mitch, this is Jimmy who is staying in the spare bedroom until he graduates from college." They shook hands and I continued. "In the interests of full disclosure, Jimmy, Mitch and I were lovers before he moved away."

Jimmy looked at me with an expression that was difficult to interpret. I don't know if he was merely surprised because I had never mentioned Mitch to him or if he was apprehensive that Mitch would interfere with his diversity training.

I smiled broadly at Jimmy to relieve any possible anxiety he might have toward the situation and he seemed to relax a little. Then, he said, "If you don't mind, I'll shower and clean up while you two talk."

I winked at Mitch and followed Jimmy up the stairs. I followed Jimmy into the bedroom and I said, "I know this was a surprise. His stopping by surprised me, too. But now that he's here, I thought it would be a chance to continue your diversity training."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I've told you about three-ways. I thought you might like to experience it. If not, that's cool. But if you want to try it, this is your chance."

Jimmy pondered the suggestion for a little while and then said, "Sure, I think I'd like that."

"It's okay that I tell him about us, then? And your diversity training?"

"I suppose you'll have to if we're to have sex together," he joked.

I returned downstairs and told Mitch of my relationship with Jimmy, including the fact that he had a prudish girlfriend and the running joke about diversity training.

"I'm delighted for you," Mitch said sincerely. "Jimmy is really hot."

Then, I suggested to Mitch what I had proposed to Jimmy. Knowing Mitch as well as I did, I knew he would accept.

Jimmy's diversity lesson that evening was immensely satisfying to the three of us. Jimmy, to my surprise, seemed to take the lead. The once-shy and innocent lad had become very skilled and gave what Mitch admitted was a masterful blowjob while, in a 69 position, Mitch elicited a powerful orgasm from Jimmy. Meanwhile, I plowed Jimmy's ass as a contribution to his education.

A year later, on Jimmy's graduation from college, he moved out and married his girlfriend. But he still finds reasons to stop by my house from time to time.

Posted:06/22/07