FRICTION FICTION: The Lottery

[monshanjik]

THE LOTTERY

By Gustav Babich

(Drummer?1989?)

The waiter poured another cup of coffee for my dinner companion as well
as myself — then beat a hasty retreat. Hmmmm. Could he have overheard
some of the reminiscences being bandied about by Roy and myself?

Ah, the memories, the adventures — all had come flooding back over a
sumptuous supper. It was possible that we'd gotten a little too
exuberant, and that our voices had carried a little too far.

Could all these things have happened over forty five years ago?! Yep,
1943. World War II — and there I was, stuck on a rusty, old supply ship
which seemed to spend its life at anchor. I was a rollicking
eighteen-year-old lad. Almost nineteen. Good looking too, if I say so
myself. Wasting away on a bucket of bolts — anchored off some
God-forsaken island in the Pacific. I'd joined the navy to fight. This
was fighting?

Looking back, a goodly portion of my lust for action was sheer bravado.
The ship had taken a hit from a Jap cruiser before I'd come aboard, and
the projectile had knocked out two forty-millimeter gun turrets. The
wreckage had long since been removed, but the turret bulkheads were
still there badly mangled and grotesquely shaped.

I wasn't really sure I wanted any truck with another Japanese five-inch
shell.

Roy Williams had been my best friend on board. Three years my senior, he
and I were both seamen second class. Roy had been busted from
third-class petty officer twice. We used to hang out — there wasn't much
else to do — with four guys from Able Division.

Every now and then we'd take in a movie on the fantail, but usually that
was a lost cause. We'd had just two movies for about three months: Now
Voyager and High Sierra. They were shown on alternate evenings. It got
so bad that during Now Voyager, one of the guys would stand and recite
the Bette Davis part along with the actress and then sit down. Someone
on the other side would immediately rise and answer with Paul Henried's
lines. The same routine took place with the Humphrey Bogart/Ida Lupino
roles in High Sierra.

Eventually — I don't know where it came from — someone laid hands on the
entire fifteen chapters of the Batman serial, which featured the
distinguished actor, J. Carroll Naish, as the infamous, heinous Dr.
Daka, a mad Japanese scientist. They ran the entire serial which took
the better part of four hours — every night for three weeks straight.

But mostly, Roy and the four Able Division guys and I hung out. As the
weeks and months dragged by, we became almost inseparable. Halverson was
a shipfitter and, I thought, totally "Asiatic," He collected old
toothbrushes. God forbid you should throw yours out. It was practically
required that you give it to Halverson who had false teeth.

He'd manufacture another set of dentures for himself, using the
transparent plastic toothbrush handles as teeth. When he would smile,
you'd see a red tooth, a green tooth, a yellow tooth, a blue tooth, etc.
Halverson was a very large man, easily six feet two, which was quite
tall in those pre-Jabbar days. In his early thirties, he was fair
complected, blond, blue-eyed, tattooed, and very muscular. In addition,
he sported what was undoubtedly the largest cock on board — if not in
the entire fleet. He walked around with a continual semi-hard-on.

The war — or lack of it — was starting to get to Broncatto too. There
were times when he would scratch his athlete's foot with a wire brush
until his foot was engulfed in blood. Broncatto was a short, slender man
with shining, wavy black hair and continual five o'clock shadow. A
sensitive sort, he was the scholar of the group — at that point the only
high school graduate. He had no interest in the "Looney Tunes" or
"Superman" comics the rest of us read. His bag was "True Comics." Much
more intellectual.

Fagan, a tall, sickly looking man, with eyes which resembled "two piss
holes in the snow" and a long hook nose, was aptly named. He looked
exactly as one would picture the character from Oliver Twist. He was the
hairiest man I've ever known. The mossy, black hair covered his entire
body, and he always seemed to be sporting a cookie-duster moustache.

The fourth man that Roy and I hung out with was a short, dumpy guy named
Pless. Everyone called him "The Penguin." Pless was almost never without
a toothpick dangling from his lips.

About two months after I'd come aboard, the six of us were sitting
around on the forecastle — swapping lies. It was an especially stifling
hot day and the inactivity was beginning to get to all of us.

"Why do you suppose we've been anchored here so damn long?" asked
Halverson of no one in particular.

We all knew that Broncatto would answer: "The way I figure it," he
began, "is that our forces are so far advanced right now that they're
better off flying supplies out to some of the islands — up near where
the action is and then running the stuff out to the battle wagons and
carriers in LST's or something. I think we're probably obsolete."

"I'd have to believe that," I said. "I've never felt so useless in my
whole life."

"Your whole life, Baby?" asked Pless. "All those years?" he teased.

Inasmuch as I was, by far; the youngest man on the ship, most of the
crew had played off my name, Babich. It became "Baby." And I'd always
thought I'd be called Gus.

I probably looked closer to fourteen than to nineteen. I shaved every
three months, just to keep the franchise.

Fagan joined the conversation. "All I know is that I haven't got laid in
I don't know how long. Months. Years, maybe. I'm so hard up that that
knothole in the bench in the chow hall's beginnin' to look good to me."

"Shit," replied Roy. "Any holed look good to you."

"Look who's talkin'," retorted Fagan. "You couldn't get laid in a
whorehouse."

"I've been without poontang so long, I doubt if I'd know what to do in a
whorehouse," said Pless.

"Oh, you'd figure it out," responded Broncatto.

"I'm not so sure," Roy chimed in with a grin.

"Well," growled Fagan, "we gotta do somethin', men. Somehow, we gotta
get our ashes hauled. I wonder if there's any women over on that island
there?"

"We'll never find out," replied Broncatto. "You know fucking well the
Captain isn't going to let any of us go ashore over there and find out."

"Probably a bunch of wild-assed savages on that island," observed Pless.
"Hell, Fagan, you'd get ashore and wind up with a spear up your ass."

"I think he'd like that," laughed Roy.

"If he'd like that," muttered Halverson, grabbing his crotch, "I've got
something here that he might really like up his ass."

"You'd split him wide open," responded Roy. "But, he'd probably enjoy
that too."

"Look," snarled Fagan, "all this bullshit ain't gettin' us nowhere.
We're startin' to talk like a bunch of queers or somethin'. I ain't no
goddam fairy."

"Oh, take a strain," said Broncatto. "Ain't none of us queer. It's just
that we've been without feminine companionship for so long that..."

"Feminine companionship," interrupted Halverson. "Does that mean
fuckin'?"

"You know it," answered Pless.

"I'm surprised that any of us has that good a memory", observed Roy.

"We still gotta do somethin'," Fagan persisted.

"Like what, Mister Smartass?" asked Broncatto. "Let's face it. We're
stuck here. Like fucking rats on a sinking ship."

"We'd be better off if the fuckin' ship did sink," growled Fagan. "Maybe
we'd get some shore duty... meet some broads."

"Dream on," said Roy.

"Look. This ain't gettin' us anywhere," said Pless. "We're sittin' here,
bullshittin' and bein' funny. But it ain't funny, men. It's serious.
It's fuckin' serious. We're all as horny as we can be."

"You can say that again," agreed Halverson. "I keep lookin' at Baby's
ass every time I see him in the shower. You know, Baby, you got a really
good lookin' ass. I'd just love to get into it."

I felt the blush start at the top of my head. I'm sure it wound up at my
toenails.

"You'd really split Baby in two," observed Roy.

I tried to shut the picture out of my imagination — but it wouldn't go
away. Guys weren't supposed to enjoy such things. In 1943, none of us
had ever heard the word "macho," but nevertheless that's what we were
all trying to be.

"Look," said Broncatto. "You went and made him blush."

"That ain't the only thing I'd like to do to him," persisted Halverson.

"Do you realize what we've been talking about?" asked Broncatto.

"Yeah," answered Fagan. "Fuckin'."

"You mean how much we miss fucking," corrected Roy. "I'll bet the rent
money," said Broncatto, "that we're all sitting here with hard-ons. I
know I am. And Halverson, for sure, has one."

"Big deal," answered Roy with a massive sigh. "We'll do what we always
do. We'll wind up in the head... pulling our pudding."

"Shit," snarled Halverson. "There's a simple answer. Why don't we just
take Baby on down to the store room and fuck him? Be one hell of a piece
of ass."

"Will you get off it, Halverson?" snapped Roy. "You're getting him all
embarrassed."

"Well," replied Halverson, "the longer I go without gettin' laid, the
better Baby's ass looks to me. I can just picture it… pushing it up his
shit chute." A warm smile covered his face. "Yeah, I can just see it...
my cock all the way up Baby's ass."

"Halverson's got a real problem," observed Broncatto.

"Not if I can get Baby off alone in the store room," answered Halverson.
"Then, I got no problem at all."

"Fuckin' 'A," agreed Fagan. "And I'd gladly take sloppy seconds."

"You'd have to fight me for 'em," growled Pless.

"C'mon, knock it off," said Roy. 'Ain't no one going to stick his cock
up Baby's ass."

"Why not?" asked Pless. "He may want it. Has anyone asked him?"

"Yeah," Broncatto joined in. "You've been awfully quiet, Baby. What do
you think?"

"I ...I..." My throat had suddenly turned to concrete.

"He's so shook up he can't talk," maintained Roy. "You guys've got him
all embarrassed. Now, stow it."

"He's shook up all right," answered Fagan. "But, maybe it ain't from
bein' embarrassed. Maybe he's excited by it. Is that it, Baby? Does it
excite you thinkin' about a hard cock bein' driven up your tender little
ass?"

"I... I didn't know any of you were looking at my fanny," I managed to
stammer.

"It ain't your 'fanny,' Baby," replied Halverson. "It's your ass'. Where
do you get this 'fanny' shit. Grow up, boy."

Roy got to his feet. "Goddam it! Knock it the fuck off! You've got him
not knowing which end is up."

"Just let me put it up his end," responded Halverson, amid gales of
laughter at his play on words.

"Look," said Broncatto. "This is fuckin' serious. We're sitting here
talking like this and we're all as excited as shit. Sit down, Williams.
I got an idea."

Roy sat back down. "What kind of idea?"

"Well, just hear me out," answered Broncatto. "Just listen to what I
have to say. How 'bout if we all drew straws or something? How 'bout if
we had it where the guy with the short straw, or whatever; got screwed
by the rest of us?"

"What?" muttered Roy. "You're out of your fuckin' mind."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," Broncatto persisted. "But, we'd all get our
rocks off on something... or should I say in something... besides our
hand."

"That's stupid," replied Roy. 'Ain't no one going to let the rest of us
give it to him up the ass."

"How do you know?" asked Broncatto. Halverson! If you lost, would you
let the rest of us stick you?"

"Shit," answered Halverson. "Ain't no one gonna fuck me in the ass."

"But, you'd fuck someone else... say, Baby, here," responded Broncatto.

"Well.. yeah," muttered Halverson.

"Not fair," observed Broncatto.

"Yeah," said Pless. "If we went into this thing... if we really do what
Broncatto's talkin' about, we'd have to agree that, whoever lost, he'd
be willing to drop his pants for the rest of us. Otherwise, it ain't no
good!"

"Right," chimed in Fagan. "Besides, Halverson, the odds are five to one
that it wouldn't be you."

"Six to one, actually," said Broncatto. "How about it? Is everyone game?
Is anyone game?"

"Fuckin' A"' Fagan half shouted. "I like them odds."

"Well," said Halverson, "I guess I'd be willin' to, you know — if I
lost.."

"How 'bout you, Williams?" asked Broncatto.

"I... I guess so," muttered Roy.

"Count me in," said Pless. "I sure hope we don't wind up fuckin' Fagan,
though. I don't know if I could get it up, lookin' at that hairy ass of
his."

"Fuck you," snarled Fagan.

"Don't you wish," responded Pless.

At that point, everyone looked at me. My head was swimming. "How 'bout
you, Baby?" asked Broncatto. "Are you game?"

"I...I don't know," I answered, flustered. "I hate to admit it, but I'm
still a virgin. I don't really know if I want my first experience to be
with a guy... putting it up his fanny. Ass. I don't know if I could get
hard... for that."

"Are you hard now?" Broncatto persisted.

"Well... yes."

"There's your answer;" he replied, as if that settled everything. 'And
maybe you'll get lucky," added Halverson. "Maybe you'll lose.''

"Maybe we'll all get lucky and he'll lose," said Fagan.

"How we gonna do this?" asked Pless. Broncatto wiped the perspiration
from his forehead.

"I don't know. Maybe put all our names in a hat. Whatever name we draw
out... he loses."

"Or wins," said Fagan.

"One other thing," cautioned Broncatto.

"What's that?" asked Roy.

"Halverson," he answered. "Halverson and the enormous cock. It's not
fair I know, but I also know that if I lose — or win, however you look
at it — I wouldn't want Halverson to be the first one to ram that cock
up my ass. We're going to have to reach some kind of gentlemen's
agreement that Halverson'll go last."

"Last?" shouted Halverson. "Shit! That's not fair."

"Granted," responded Broncatto. "But, that's the price you have to pay
for having such a huge dong. It'd probably take the other four of us
first to loosen up whoever winds up getting fucked in all of this."

"That's right," agreed Pless. "If Baby, here, lost, and Halverson did
get first digs, he'd rip him apart! The rest of us might as well stick
our dicks out the porthole and fuck the whole wide world for all the
good it'd do us. You don't need 'em as tight as we do, Halverson."

"It's the only way," observed Roy, in agreement. "I saw the look on
Baby's face when Pless mentioned Halverson sticking it up his ass. His
whole life was passing in front of him!"

"Gotta be it," said Broncatto. "You gotta agree to it, Halverson. The
rest of us can all draw lots, or whatever; to see who gets first shot
and sloppy seconds and all such shit as that."

"Shit, huh?" asked Pless.

"Probably be some of that," said Fagan. "Maybe a hell of a lot of it. I
don't really know, though. I never screwed a man in the ass before."

"Well, whoever it is," replied Pless, "he's gonna have to take a shit
before we fuck him."

"Where we gonna do it?" asked Halverson. "There's four or five empty
officers' staterooms off our compartment," offered Pless. "And I've got
the mid-watch tonight. Wouldn't be anyone wanderin' in on us."

"Good," smiled Broncatto. "Then, tonight we do it!"

"Jeez," said Halverson. "I'm all hopped up... excited as hell."

"Shit," replied Fagan. "You're always excited as hell."

"Yeah," Halverson persisted, "but tonight I know I'll be screwin'
someone. To me, that's real exciting."

"How do you know it's not going to be us screwing you?" asked Roy.

The question appeared to take the wind out of Halverson's sails.
Broncatto reached into the back pocket of his dungarees and withdrew a
yellowed requisition of some sort and tore it into six pieces. Then, he
borrowed a pen from Roy and wrote six names on the little sheets. He
folded the six "chits" and put them into his grimy white hat.

He arose and walked to where Roy was sitting. Holding the hat well above
Roy's head, he asked my best friend to draw a name.

There wasn't a sound. The air hung heavy with silence.

Roy drew the name — and read it.

It was mine.

That night at one AM, we gathered in the most remote of the vacant
staterooms and locked the door.

"I've put each of our four names in my hat." Broncatto's voice was a
husky whisper. "We've agreed that Halverson'll go last."

"Come last, you mean," said Pless with a broad grin. Broncatto waved his
hand at nothing in particular. "Whatever;" he answered. Then, turning
toward me, he rasped, "Baby, you might just as well be getting your
clothes off, while we draw lots to see who's going to fuck you first."

"I have to take all my clothes off?"

"Of course," snapped Halverson. "What'd you think?"

"I thought I'd just have to take my pants down."

"Not on your life," answered Fagan. "When I give it to you, I want you
bare-assed naked."

I swallowed hard and began to remove my clothing. By the time I climbed
up onto the bunk, totally naked and lying on my stomach, it had been
determined that Broncatto would be the first to mount me.

My head was a swirl with all manner of conflicting emotions. It hadn't
occurred to me until well after the drawing that, not only would I be
gangbanged, but I'd also have an audience for each cock I took up my
bottom. Part of me was excited beyond words. Part of me was mortified.

Broncatto removed his dungaree shirt and pants. He was wearing nothing
underneath.

As he climbed onto the bed behind me, I experienced a strange puckering
between my asscheeks.

I'd purposely avoided looking at Broncatto's penis. However, I'd seen
him numerous times in the shower and, while his tool wasn't close to
being in the same league as Halverson's, it wasn't small by any means. I
felt him lower himself on me, reaching between us to direct his cock to
the target. My cheeks spread and I felt the head probing just above my
asshole.

"A little lower," I whispered.

"Here," he answered, removing his hand from between our bodies. "Reach
back here and put it in."

I reached back. His erect cock felt almost like a salami. I placed the
head against my lips back there.

He hunched his back and pushed the head inside me. I managed not to
scream — but just barely.

"Take it out! Take it out!" I rasped. "Please! It's too big! I can't
take it! The pain... I can't tell you! You're going to rip me!"

"Take it easy," soothed Broncatto. "Just relax. Take a couple of deep
breaths. I won't push it in any further. Just let your shit chute relax.
There, Baby. There. See? It's going to be all right."

"How far ya in him?" asked Halverson.

"Just the tip," Broncatto replied. "Listen, do any of you guys have some
Vaseline or something? Something I can lubricate my dick with? It may
never go up him if I don't have something to coat it with. I should've
thought of that."

"I got some hair tonic," volunteered Fagan. If anyone would have hair
tonic, it would be Fagan. "It's pretty gooey."

"Good," answered Broncatto. "Go get it! Hurry!" The pain in my rear end
was beginning to subside slightly. We lay there, not moving for the four
or five minutes it took Fagan to produce the bottle of greasy kid stuff.

"Easy now, Baby," soothed Broncatto. "I'm going to take it out for just
a minute."

It was the strangest — and, in a way, most delightful sensation when I
felt him pull out of me. I was surprised too, to find how sorry I was
that he'd removed the cock, even though I knew he would stick it back
inside me. It was a terrible emptiness I felt back there.

Broncatto knelt up behind me — between my spread legs — and took the
bottle from Fagan. I could smell the too sweet aroma as he coated his
cock with the slippery hair dressing. He lowered himself on top of me
once more and I reached back and guided the lubricated shaft to the
opening of my rectum.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed up into me. With the slick coating,
his rod produced substantially less pain — and almost no friction.

I was unaware, to that point, that I'd begun gulping massive amounts of
air into my lungs. I was exhaling in great gushes of piping hot breath.
My mouth felt as though it was coated with cotton.

"How're you doing, Baby?" asked Roy.

"Okay," I grunted.

"Pretty good. He's got it about halfway up."

"More than halfway," corrected Broncatto.

Fagan, the epitome of class, reached between us and ran his thumb and
forefinger around Broncatto's cock to form a circle. He slid the fingers
down the shaft — until they rested on my yawning asshole.

"Jesus Christ!" Fagan exclaimed. "He's almost all the way in."

An accurate statement.

Broncatto whispered in my ear. "You okay, Baby? You all right?"

"Yeah," I exhaled. "I'm all right."

Fagan removed his fingers and Broncatto pressed his cock into my ass as
far as it would go. My breathing tempo increased. Then, as we lay
motionless, I felt myself begin to relax back there. Although the pain
was still rather pronounced, it felt pretty good lying there with his
meat all the way up my butt.

I'm glad that my cherry went to Broncatto. He was unbelievably patient
with me and as gentle as anyone could be.

Once he was certain I'd relaxed to the point that I could accommodate
him, he raised up, almost pulling completely out of me. Once again, his
almost-withdrawal produced a weird — and wonderful — sensation.

I felt my lips spread back there as the head of his prick was half in
and half out of my sphincter. Then, with more insistence than before, he
pressed back into me. All the way.

Once again, we lay there motionless for all of thirty seconds. "Okay,
Baby," he whispered in my ear. "Hang on. I'm going to give you a real
ride for your money."

He pulled back to the edge of my opening once again, and then plunged
back up inside me. I exhaled with a "whoosh." He repeated the procedure.
For the first time, I felt his pubic hair grind against my tender cheeks
back there. Again he pumped almost all the way out and then drove back
up into me. And again — faster that time. Again and again, that
wonderful cock seemed about to leave my body, and again and again, I
hoped it wouldn't. Again and again he plunged his throbbing cock back in
as far as it would go.

The tempo began to increase. I found myself caught up in the rhythm as
he pumped that tool in and out of me. I started to hump up in
anticipation of each downward thrust. My meeting Broncatto stroke for
stroke didn't escape the attention of my audience.

"Hey! He's really enjoying it," Fagan half shouted.

"Shhhhhh," admonished Roy.

"But, he is enjoying it," Fagan persisted. "He's loving it. He actually
loves to get fucked."

At that point, my ass had become a cylindrical wall to Broncatto's
piston. He was pumping in and out back there with a vengeance. He began
to moan slightly as the tempo reached a frenzied pitch.

At last, he slammed his prong in all the way. I even felt the warmth of
the fluid he was beginning to shoot up me. Twice more he pulled back to
the very entrance of my bottom and plunged back in; each time the motion
was accompanied by a fresh spurt of love juice. The third time, he
slipped all the way out and, before driving back into me, I felt the
trickle of warm on my right cheek. Finally, Broncatto lay flat on
top of me — still up inside me. His softening cock seemed to be soaking
up the fluid he'd injected into me.

It wasn't thirty seconds before Fagan said, "C'mon, Broncatto. You're
all through with him. Let me get a chance to fuck him. C'mon."

"In… in a minute," panted Broncatto. "Whew," he continued, "that was
some kind of fuck. I enjoyed that as much as screwing a woman."

"If you ask me," declared Pless, "you enjoyed it more."

"Very possible." Broncatto was regaining his normal breathing pattern.
"Very possible. First time I've ever had my cock up a man's ass. Think
the biggest thing is that Baby was enjoying it."

"Damn right, he was enjoying it," agreed Fagan. He grabbed at his
crotch. "I got somethin' else here that he can enjoy."

I can't describe the overwhelming sense of loss as Broncatto lifted
himself off of me and his flaccid tool slithered its way out of my rear.

It was decreed that Pless would be next.

As he removed his pants and undershorts, I felt Broncatto wipe my fanny
with a towel. "No reason seconds should be that sloppy," he said.

Pless didn't bother taking his shirt off. He scrunched it up in a ball
and I felt it in the small of my back as he pressed his tool against my
well-loosened entryway.

His cock was somewhat smaller than Broncatto's, and he had no trouble
pushing into me all the way on the first stroke. For fully a minute and
a half or two minutes, he just lay on top of me with his prong all the
way up me.

"Eeeewweew," he exclaimed, "that feels good. Just lying here with my
cock all the way inside him. It feels so good!"

"Yeah," admonished Fagan. "Get on with the fuckin', huh? We don't need
no goddam play by play. I'm next, and I can't wait to get into him."

Pless began to slowly, methodically, screw me.

His strokes were gentle, never hurried. Each downward thrust culminated
with a ten or fifteen second interlude in which he stopped and let his
tool remain all the way up me. It felt good.

Pless never reached an up-tempo rhythm with me, maintaining just the
slow, almost sporadic pumping, and then the same resting pause while in
me to the hilt. I was totally unprepared for him to begin coming so far
up me when he eventually did. There was absolutely no frenzy of any sort
on his part. He took about six or eight more strokes, with each one
shooting more jism into me, and then he was finished. I felt the warm
fluid seep out of me as he withdrew from my ass. The sticky liquid ran
down over my balls and between my legs.

Once Pless was standing, he had trouble retaining his footing. He seemed
to almost lose his balance. His dungaree shirt, covering his cock by
that point, was becoming quite wet from sweat.

"Goddam," he finally managed to say. "That was good! That was as good as
any piece of ass I ever had. Ever! Sonofabitch, that was good!"

"Yeah," sneered Fagan. "Well, it's my turn. Let me at him. He only
thinks he got fucked by you two... wait'll he gets the ol' Fagan beef
injection!"

"He can hardly wait," said Roy, in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Fagan dropped his pants and undershorts and grabbed his cock. He
practically shoved it in my face as he said, "See that, Baby? That's
going right up your ass. Right up that tender, young ass of yours."

"Come on," said Halverson. "Cut the bullshit and get to fucking him. I'm
about ready to cream here and you're shootin' the shit."

Fagan stepped out of his pants and shorts and removed his shirt. I
flinched somewhat at the sight of his hairy body. It was almost gross.

He climbed up behind me and knelt. Then, he put a rough, callused hand
on each of my cheeks back there and spread them.

"Now what the fuck are you doing?" asked Roy.

"Just lookin' at his asshole," Fagan replied. "Just checkin' to see
where I'm gonna stick it."

"Look," answered Broncatto, "you're the one who wanted to get on with
the fucking so you could plank the kid. Okay so we got on with the
fucking, and there you are, still making some kind of stupid-assed
ceremony of the whole thing. If you're going to screw him, screw him.
Otherwise, give Williams and Halverson a shot at him."

I felt the mossy body press down upon my smooth torso. He reached
between our bodies and guided his tool straight toward my opening. I
felt the familiar wonderful sensation as my lips began to spread and
allow him entrance.

He pushed right in as far as he could. His cock was slightly bigger than
Broncatto's and probably a good deal larger than Pless'. I'd never
really ever looked at Pless' tool before — to the best of my memory
anyway. He always seemed to have it covered up for some reason.

I was either becoming very loose or very numb back there — maybe a
little of both. I could feel the bigness of Fagan's prong, but not much
of the pain.

He began a quick pumping action. It took about four strokes — and he was
all through. This was the famous "Fagan beef injection"? He took two or
three more strokes, and then I could feel the sperm ooze out of him and
into me. He was shivering and trembling to the point where I was afraid
that he might fall off of me.

"Jesus!" he panted. "Jesus... that was good. That was fuckin' good!"
Then, he practically collapsed on top of me.

"That's it?" asked Broncatto, laughing. "That's all?"

"Yeah," sputtered Fagan. "What a fuck! Jesus, Baby, you're good."

"Good?" Roy was laughing out loud. "Baby didn't even get off the ground
on that one!"

Thirty seconds later; Fagan slid his soft cock out of my ass. I suffered
no real pangs of regret.

It was Roy's turn.

I felt his huge hand on my bottom as he stood beside me. "You want to
forgo it, Baby? I don't have to fuck you, if you don't want me to."

I looked up and smiled at my friend. "No, Roy. Go ahead. I doubt if I'd
have enough class to ask you the same question. If you'd lost, I'd
probably just have gone ahead and screwed you. Go ahead. It's probably
kinda sloppy back there, though."

No sooner had I said that than Roy slapped me hard on both cheeks. The
sound of the enormous hand landing on my bare skin filled the room.

"Come on, Williams," admonished Broncatto. "You came here to fuck him —
not spank him."

"Yeah," snarled Fagan. "You'll wake up every goddam gold braid in
officers' country."

I was somewhat surprised that Roy had slapped me, but even more
surprised at the delicious tingle I was feeling back there as he crawled
up behind me.

I reached back and took hold of his penis. For some reason, the
realization hit me at that moment that I'd always wanted to take hold of
his penis.

Under my guidance, I felt the head begin to spread me. His cock wasn't
especially long, but it was quite thick. It'd be somewhat of a
preparation for when Halverson, who was panting noisily at that point,
gored me.

Roy pushed up me about three-quarters of the way. When he heard my
grunt, he stopped. "Okay, Baby?"

"Yeah," I managed to answer. "It's just a little thick. That's all. I'll
get used to it."

It took about a minute for my chute to adjust to his prong, but while we
lay motionless, I was adrift on a sea of warm feelings. There I was, as
close as I could possibly be to my best friend. Well, we'd be a little
closer — once he managed to work his dong all the way up me. But, I
don't think I'd ever been more at peace with myself than I was at that
very moment.

I suddenly felt the pressure once again as his cock continued its probe
of my asshole. He was in to the hilt. It felt good. Good? It was
wonderful! I wished we could remain that close forever.

He pulled back slightly, then pushed in to the hilt once more. The
pumping began slowly. It would take another twenty strokes or so before
he was actually bringing the head almost all the way out and then
pressing back in all the way. He must've slapped me harder than I'd
realized, however; for when his pubes ground against my cheeks, it
created the strangest sensation on my bare skin back there.

Then the tempo began to build. Faster and faster. At the height of his
passion, Roy pulled all the way out of me and, in trying to drive his
cock back into me, missed the hole completely. I felt his moist,
slippery meat pressing between my cheeks, and I hungrily clenched my
buttocks around it. But the sensation only lasted the briefest of
seconds, and then, he was back inside me — pumping with reckless
abandon.

I thought he was going to shriek as his tool began to spurt in me. He
managed to stifle the scream, but his cock was going crazy. Each stroke
sent what seemed to be a quart of up me. His entire body was shaking
from head to toe. I'd never experienced anything like it before.

As he pushed it all the way up for the last and final time, his body
went completely limp, and I barely heard him whisper in my ear; "I love
you, Gus."

It was the first time he'd ever called me "Gus."

Even after two full minutes or so, his cock didn't seem to want to lose
the hard on. He rose up, and I thought for sure that I'd reached the
sorrowful point when I'd lose that wonderful prick.

Not so.

He began to fuck me once more. Harder than before. The tempo was much
more frenzied. In and out. Then, he put his arms under my armpits, his
hands on my shoulders, and I felt him hump up for one last plunge.

He didn't quite manage to stifle the scream that time, as he filled my
bowels with even more warm love juice. His penis jerked wildly inside of
me. Then, he lay on top of me once more — completely spent.

"Christ, Williams," admonished Fagan. "You gotta keep quiet. We'll have
the whole fuckin' navy in here!"

If Roy heard him, he gave no sign. My best friend — my lover of the
moment — lay limp on top of me. However; somehow, he managed to keep the
pressure on, pressing his tool far up my ass.

Finally, Halverson could stand it no longer.

"All right, Williams," he growled. "That's fuckin' long enough! I stood
there all this time and didn't say nothin'. Now it's my turn. Get off of
him. Let me get to fuckin' him!"

Roy looked up at Halverson and, with a sleepy-eyed grin, said, "You
wouldn't understand, Halverson."

I knew the regrettable moment was at hand: Regrettable, because I was
going to have to deal with being impaled on Halverson's schlong, but
even more regrettable because I was going to lose Roy's cock. It
belonged up there.

Halverson began to disrobe and was completely naked by the time Roy
raised himself from me. Roy's semi-erect cock left a void back there
that was almost overwhelming, as he removed it from my ass, wobbled to
his feet and patted both cheeks. Then he found the only chair in the
room and slumped down into it.

"Now," declared Halverson, "I get mine. Rather; you get yours!"

"I was wondering when the entertainment would start," I said listlessly.

"Better coat yourself up," Broncatto said to Halverson. "No matter bow
loose he is back there, he's going to be too tight for you."

"Shit," replied the huge man. "He don't need no lubrication."

"He does, Halverson," replied Broncatto. "Otherwise you'll tear him up."

I shuddered at the prospect.

Grudgingly, Halverson spread some of the smelly tonic on his gargantuan
weapon. It looked more erect — and more threatening — than ever.

"I got to caution you, Baby," advised Broncatto. "We can't have any
hollering or screaming. If Halverson splits you in two, then he splits
you in two. But we all knew the rules going in. You've just got to be
quiet. And, Halverson, you take it easy too, for Christ's sake. Don't go
ramming that telephone pole of yours up his ass. Take it slow... real
slow. Be easy... at least until he can adapt to your dick."

"Ain't no one can adjust to that sonofabitch," growled Fagan.

A comforting thought.

The dreaded moment arrived. I felt the bed springs creak noisily in
protest as Halverson climbed on, and almost immediately, I felt the bulk
of him crushing down on top of me. I reached back and took hold of that
huge howitzer of his and eased it toward my rectum. I doubted that my
cheeks would be able to spread far enough to accommodate him, boding ill
for my sphincter. The monumental head pressed mercilessly against the
entrance. My anus spread as far as it could — or so I thought anyway. I
felt a terrible, searing pain back there as the tip of the head entered
my hole.

"Hooo, take it easy," I grunted.

''Shit," he answered. "I'm not hardly in you yet. Wait'll I get the head
in there..." With that, he shoved up into me, getting at least two
inches of the head inside. I gritted my teeth and hung onto the sheet
for dear life. There wasn't a sound in the room until everyone exhaled
in unison.

"How're you doing, Baby?" asked Roy. "Is it too painful?"

"Naw... naw," I answered with false bravado. "I c'n take it." Halverson,
showing more patience than I would've imagined, waited until it seemed
as if my asshole had adapted as much as possible to his massive tool.
Then, he began inching it ever further into me. My grunts were filling
the room. There wasn't a sound from the audience as they watched me
being gored.

Finally, I rasped, "Hold it a minute, Halverson. You're tearing me up
back there."

"Hell, Baby," he bitched, "I'm only halfway inside."

"Well, just hold on for a minute or two."

Deep breathing didn't seem to help. The deep, searing pain wouldn't
subside.

"Maybe he ought to take it out for a minute or two... give you a rest,"
suggested Broncatto.

"Naw... naw," I replied. "I'm going to have to take it sooner or later.
I might as well let him screw me now and get it over with."

Halverson pressed further into me. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt any more
than it had. However; it didn't hurt any less either. Another light
thrust found him truly filling me up.

The ever-suave Fagan reached his fingers in between us. "Hey," he
exclaimed. "He's almost got it all the way in."

"Maybe you don't have to get it all the way in," suggested Broncatto.

"Shit," replied Halverson. "If it ain't all the way in, it ain't an
official fuck. I'll take it slow and easy, but this cock is going up his
ass all the way.

He pushed in further.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh," I groaned.

With a flourish, he made one final thrust. I just about tore the sheet
off the head of the bed. I was truly impaled.

"There," Halverson said, satisfaction dripping from his voice.

The other four let out a collective sigh.

"It's all the way up his ass," reported Halverson, triumphantly. "It's
fuckin' all the way in!"

"You all right, Baby?" asked Roy.

I was barely able to grunt my affirmation.

Slowly, Halverson pulled that monstrous dong up to the point where the
massive head was just inside me. Then, slowly but firmly, he pressed
back down. I had that salami all the way in me once more. The "whooosh"
as I exhaled filled the room.

"He's doing it," said Fagan. "He's fucking Baby!"

He didn't have to tell me.

Again, Halverson pulled almost out and then pushed back. In a million
years, I never would've imagined I could derive any pleasure from being
crushed under such a massive bulk, with a schlong the size of a cuber
jammed up my ass. The pain was still substantial but I was enjoying it.
Incredible.

Once more, a slow — but insistent — stroke. Then another. And another.
They were beginning to accelerate somewhat. My bunger apparently was
adapting well. Each time he pumped into, and then almost all the way out
of me, the pain was slightly less than the previous stroke. By the time
he'd picked up the tempo to a normal fucking beat, the excitement I was
feeling had practically overcome the agony I'd felt at the beginning of
the screwing. And, once Halverson reached the frenzied rhythm which told
me he was about to come, I was even meeting him stroke for stroke.

Then, I felt his huge frame begin to shiver uncontrollably. His
breathing became so many hisses, and suddenly he exploded way up in my
bowels. There really was no place for his love juice. Every time he
would piston back up to my opening, the warm fluid would gush out of me
and when he drove it back up me, the noisiness of the 'slurp’ filled my
ears.

It felt as though he was shooting tons of back there and his pumping
didn't diminish until he'd unloaded twenty or twenty-five spurts.
Finally, he collapsed on top of me, plastering me flush against the
mattress. As the monumental schlong began to soften — ever so slightly —
more and more jism trickled out of me.

"I think Baby just joined the cult of the smoking asshole," observed
Pless.

I don't believe he was awfully far off.

Once Halverson had gotten hold of himself, he pulled slowly out of me. I
had the feeling that the lips of my rectum would never completely close
again. Apparently, I wasn't entirely wrong. As Broncatto dabbed at me
with his towel, I could feel a good amount of the cloth itself up inside
me — without benefit of pressure.

The most uncomfortable moment of the entire gang-fuck took place when
Broncatto pulled the towel away from my hind end; no one knew exactly
what to say — least of all me. After all, what do you say when you've
just been screwed by five guys? With an audience yet!

Silently, the five filed out of the room and closed the door; leaving me
lying naked and alone.

Two nights later; at about three in the morning, I felt myself being
shaken awake. The firm hand on my shoulder was Roy's.

"Baby," he whispered. "Are you awake?"

I must've worn an insipid grin, but I nodded. "Good," he rasped. "Baby,
I've got to have you again. Will you come to that stateroom with me?"

I nodded and climbed out of my rack.

We hurried to officer's country and darted into the same room we'd used
two nights previously. The bottom sheet was a crumpled mess. The top
sheet was piled on the deck in a corner.

We removed our skivvies and climbed onto the bed. I lay on my stomach
and felt his hands caressing my bottom cheeks. Then, as before, he
slapped each cheek — hard. I jumped at the unexpected severity of the
whacks.

"You did that the other night," I remarked. "How come?"

"Didn't your mother ever spank your bum?"

I nodded. "Of course. Thousands of times. Didn't yours?" Slowly, he
shook his head. "No. She didn't care enough about me to do it," he
answered, sadness coating every word. "Neither did my father."

I didn't know what to say. I lowered my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"There are just times, Baby, when I want to put you across my knee and
spank your fanny. There are times... like right now... when I want to
give it to you in the ass so bad..."

"So…" I soothed, "give it to me in the ass! I'm waiting."

I didn't have to wait long.

It was wonderful with just the two of us together. No reason to hurry.
No reason to conform to anyone's wishes but our own.

I was still rather sore back there, and when Roy had trouble getting
into me, I rolled over and took his gorgeous penis into my mouth —
something else I thought I'd never do, or be able to. Instinctively I
ran my tongue around the head, then down the shaft. I felt the vein at
the base of his cock begin to grow larger and larger.

Once I had his tool festooned with a copious amount of my saliva, I
rolled back onto my stomach. Immediately, I felt the head of his prick
press just inside my rectum.

"Hurt?" he asked.

"A little. Not bad. Go ahead. Give it to me."

Slowly, but steadily, he inched that beautiful stick up me once more.
Once he was completely inside me, his body went practically limp.

"You all right?" I queried.

"Never better. I just want to lie here for a minute with my cock all the
way up your ass.

It was ten wonderful, tender minutes before he began to fuck me.

As the strokes became more rapid and more frenzied, I realized with
surprise that I was already on the verge of coming — and no one had
touched my cock.

I fixed that.

It took about six strokes before I began to ejaculate all over that
poor; battle-weary sheet. At that same moment, I felt Roy's prong start
to go nuts as he filled me to overflowing. At exactly the same instant,
our bodies went limp; it was as if someone had dropped two marionettes
on the bed. The only thing that didn't go limp was Roy's wondrous cock.
It remained erect for fully twenty more minutes — at which time Roy
fucked me again, and just as fantastically.

We stayed in the room for two hours, holding one another in a never
ending embrace.

At one point, I said, "I don't want to be screwed by those other guys
ever again. I only want to be screwed by you."

"You probably won't have to," he answered. "Someone else'll probably
lose the drawing next time. Hell, you may even get to fuck me!"

"That, I'd like. But, I really don't want to take it from the others
again, especially Fagan."

"Fagan? I thought you were going to say Halverson. Fagan wasn't in you
for more than a minute or two."

"I know, but he's so hairy and so... so... so damn disgusting!"

"Yeah, but he doesn't have a horse's cock like Halverson."

"Halverson did the best he could. He took it as easy on me as he could
have. He was awfully gentle, especially for such a big man. I really
can't complain about Halverson."

"Well, we kinda got to keep on with the lottery, or the drawing, or
whatever you want to call it. We're kind of committed. I wouldn't worry.
I really doubt if it'll be you again. Odds are against it. But, I'd hate
for you to let anyone else screw you... unless you lose again."

"Don't worry. They won't."

We held our little lottery once each month for the next three months. I
lost (or won) every time. After that, we didn't even bother going
through the formality of the actual drawing. It just became a matter of
where they were going to fuck me and when.

About two weeks after my third go round with being gangbanged, Roy was
dispatched to the island to bury some sort of hazardous material. It was
thought to be a projectile or two containing poison gas. Just because
chemical warfare was against International Law didn't mean we didn't
have such things — to use in retaliation, of course.

It was to be a two man working party, and Roy was told he himself could
choose the other man for the detail. Naturally, he picked me.

The heavy, steel container seemed to weigh a ton. The ground was like
concrete, and the sun beat down upon us mercilessly. Outside of that,
the detail went off without a flaw. Once we'd covered the container with
five feet of dirt, we took off our skivvy shorts — we'd long since
discarded our dungarees — and galloped into the ocean. The water never
felt more refreshing, and we swam and frolicked for about an hour and a
half. I kept wondering if anyone from the ship had their binoculars
trained on us.

I felt Roy's hand on my bottom, beneath the surface. "Time to get out
now, Baby. I've got a bit of a surprise for you…"

"A surprise? What kind of surprise?"

"You remember my telling you how I'd love to spank your bum?"

"Yeah I remember," I stammered.

"Well, today you're going to get it. Afterwards, I may screw you."

"I'd like you to screw me, Roy. I'd love it. But, the spanking... I
don't know."

"Well, it's not really going to be a spanking."

I must've brightened somewhat.

"It'll be more like a whipping," he continued.

He marched me back onto the island, out of the sight line of the ship,
to where we'd buried our dangerous cargo. Just to the right, the trunk
of a tree which had obviously been struck by lightning sprawled across
the clearing.

"Now, I want you to put your white hat over the family jewels and lie
down over that tree there... sunny-side up. I want to see your bum."

I complied.

I felt completely ridiculous lying across the trunk, my crackerjack cap
under me, and my rear end sticking straight up in the air.

"Now, you just wait. Be patient. I'm going to cut some switches. Did
your mother ever use a switch on you, Baby?"

"Yeah. Plenty of times. Every kid in the neighborhood... when they were
going to get spanked... had to go to the woods at the end of our street
and cut a switch and then walk all the way back with the damn thing.
Everyone in the whole damn neighborhood would know you were going to get
your fanny whipped. We used to hide underneath the kid's bedroom window
— especially in the summer. You could really hear him or her get it."

"Bare bum?" His voice grew with excitement as I provided more details.

"Usually. Another thing: you'd better have cut the right size switch. If
my mother thought the one I brought back was too flimsy, she'd send me
back for another one — for two more! And then I'd get it with both of
'em. It killed me, so I always made sure that I brought one hefty enough
for her."

I heard the rustle of branches as Roy set about obtaining suitable
instruments to use on my bare butt. He walked back into the clearing
bearing three substantial switches — all pliable and whip-like. He
wasted no time. He assumed a position off to the left of my bottom and
immediately began to switch me. The blows landed one after the other;
landing every which way on my ass. He showed no mercy. Twenty or
twenty-five strokes into the beating, the welts began to crisscross back
there, and it became especially painful. I tried to hold it in, but
couldn't. I began to bawl like — like a baby.

"Go ahead, Baby. No one can hear you. Cry your eyes out. You're taking
one hell of a whipping."

By the time Roy finished with me, I could barely rise up from the tree
trunk. I'd never been spanked so severely. Ever. Then he spread our
dungaree shirts on the ground and ordered me to lie down. I didn't have
to guess what was coming next.

Roy had brought a tube of Vaseline. He fished it out of his pants pocket
and liberally coated his cock with the slimy stuff. Then, he slowly
lowered himself onto me. I took that magnificent prick in my hand and
directed it into my rear gateway. Roy lost no time. He plunged his prong
into me all the way and then ground his pubic hair against my well
beaten bottom.

"I'm gonna spank you, and I'm gonna fuck you any time I want to, Baby.
Do you understand that? Any fucking time I want to!"

"Yes," I answered. "Any time. Any place."

It didn't take long for his joystick to begin flooding my bowels with
his juice. The roughness of the beating and the screwing was an obvious
turn-on.

Once his cock had stopped jerking around up inside me, he pulled out of
me immediately and slapped me hard on my torn-up rump.

"Okay, Baby. Time to get back to the ship. What do you think about going
on a working party with me now?"

"Well, it was probably the most unique working party in history," I
answered, still rubbing my sore ass.

The monthly lotteries — and gang-fucks — ended the heart wrenching day,
about six months after they'd started, when a squadron of Japanese Zeros
blundered upon us. At the time, we were still anchored off that stupid
island.

Fagan, standing next to me, heard the planes or possibly saw them a
split second before the piercing sound of the General Quarters alarm
filled the ship. One of the aircraft had already begun its dive toward
us. As the strafing began, Fagan pushed me overboard. I expected him to
follow; he didn't make it. A fusillade of bullets ripped through him. He
never had a chance.

I quickly churned my way to where the rudder protruded halfway above the
surface of the water and was able to use it as a shield.

Within minutes, our forty-millimeters were firing back, knocking two
Zeros out of the air. As the enemy planes began to regroup for another
strafing run, a dozen Navy F4U Corsairs appeared out of nowhere. It was
no contest. By my count, the American fighters shot down a minimum of
six more Zeros. They may have gotten more. My last vision was of the
Corsairs in hot pursuit as the Japanese planes turned tail and ran.

Once the encounter was ended, the others pulled me out of the drink.

Fagan was the only casualty. Fagan, the man I thought had absolutely no
class. The one person I really didn't want to make love to me. The guy
who I always thought was so selfish. He was dead. He'd saved my life —
and then he was dead.

The five of us who'd survived never got together in the stateroom again.

The navy decided to let the ship limp back to San Diego with only a
skeleton crew. They transferred most of us to other ships or short
installations. Within a week, I was in Norfolk, Virginia, assigned to a
massive supply depot operation.

Even though we'd all vowed to keep in touch, our group lost contact with
one another.

When I was discharged in 1945, I remained in Norfolk and married a
beautiful young woman I'd met at the annual Granby High/Maury High
football classic on Thanksgiving Day. I sired and raised five children —
all of whom, of course, have long since grown and left the nest. I have
eleven grandkids. Ask me about 'em sometime.

My position with regard to what had occurred aboard the ship — and on
the island — was that it had been strictly a wartime aberration. None of
us, I felt, had really been queer. And yet, and yet…

None of us had ever heard of "being in the closet." Hell, none of us
even knew we might have been in some kind of a closet. I, for one, was
able to almost shut the entire sequence out of my mind. Almost.

From time to time, I would dream of the screwings I'd taken. And the
whippings. To this day, I have no idea whether my wife is aware of the
content of some of those dreams. There have been times, though, when
she'd looked at me awfully funny.

Then, after all these years, Roy and I met again.

I'd started my own heavy equipment rental company in the fifties. Roy
was working for a huge battery distributorship up in New Jersey. He'd
simply blundered into my office that morning, trying to sell me
batteries.

At first, neither of us recognized the other. Forty-some years, after
all, is a long time. When he handed me his card, however; the memories
came flooding back.

"Are you...?" I began.

He was staring at the name plaque on my desk. "Were... were you
stationed on the Grimes? Are you... are you that Gus Babich? Baby?"

We spent the entire day reminiscing in my office, wolfing down a pizza
for lunch. Every one of our memories wound their way back to the orgies
aboard the ship — and the exciting, private interlude on the island.

Later, over dinner, Roy observed, "You know, I always wondered what
would've happened if things'd been different. If things'd been more open
back in the forties. If we hadn't had to hide our desires and our
feelings and all that."

I nodded. A glow seemed to fill me.

"Yeah," I answered. "Who knows what would've happened?"

"Have you ever had another man?"

I shook my head. "No. Not since you... and not since I lost all those
drawings. Our famed lottery."

"Let me tell you something about our storied, fabled lottery: once we'd
given up all pretense of the drawing... Broncatto finally confessed to
me... that he'd never; ever put anybody else's name in the hat except
yours."

"You're kidding!"

He shook his head emphatically. "No. I'm not kidding. He told me that he
honestly intended to do a fair one after that first time. With that
first one, he knew that everyone really wanted to fuck you. Everyone
practically drooled at your ass when you'd walk by naked."

"Yeah. I guess they did. I was pretty naive in those days."

"So naive that you really didn't know that the lottery was stacked?"

I nodded. "Really. I had no clue."

"Broncatto said that. He claimed that after the first time, it was so
obvious that you really did enjoy getting it, that it just seemed like
the perfect arrangement. So, he simply continued to exclude everyone
else's name from the hat." He grinned broadly. "You were it," he
continued.

"I guess I should've suspected. But, so help me, to this day, I never
figured it out. I just thought some ‘power that be’ was smiling down on
me. I did enjoy getting screwed, you know."

"I know," he replied warmly. "I enjoyed screwing you." I heaved a
massive sigh.

"Is all this leading where I think it's leading?" My voice was shaky as
a high school sophomore's.

"I hope so," he replied. "I've got a room at the Holiday Inn. I can't
believe your ass would've deteriorated all that much and I can still get
it up. Well, almost always. Sometimes, to my wife's chagrin, it doesn't
work out. But I sure do know I'd thoroughly enjoy fucking you again."

It was most satisfying.

They say you can't go back, but I'm not certain that's entirely true,
especially if you don't set your hopes too high. Of course, at our ages,
the pace was slower — much slower. Much more relaxed. However; it was
every bit as satisfying.

Now we get together once a month. Roy comes down from Jersey, ostensibly
to sell me batteries. It's one of those corny ‘I love my wife but oh,
you kid’ kind of things, but I don't intend to lose track of him ever
again. Without his friendship, his companionship, and the warm,
wonderful sensation I experience every time I feel him enter me back
there, an entire dimension would be missing from my life.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!