FRICTION FICTION: Used by Men

[monshanjik]

USED BY MEN

By Marshall Gordon

(Honcho.Aug.1985.)

Wandering the Vieux Carre and the docks of New Orleans was a favorite
pastime of John's — especially the docks. He frequently met independent
males there who wouldn't stoop to hanging out in "respectable" gathering
spots; they preferred prowling in wild places. John was drawn like a
pile of metal shavings when he crossed the paths of these magnetic men.
He was the victim of his fantasies, which sometimes materialized before
him unexpectedly.

It was on one of his Friday night wharf-side excursions that John met
Chaz. He saw the biker sitting astride his Harley, staring across the
river as if mesmerized by activity on the far side. John could see only
a few wavering lights, a ferry boat making its run — and this damned
tough looking biker. Tough didn't deter John; he was hooked on Tough.

The sounds, smells, shadows and risks of the quays all combined to evoke
a strong emotion in John, a stronger stimulation than booze or drugs
could. On the docks he felt an invigorating adrenaline rush in
anticipation of an encounter that could be either dangerous, sexually
intoxicating, or both. The biker's strong silhouette was outlined by the
dulled city lights and the dim glow of a lit cigarette. John knew that
he would be a heavy, satisfying experience. The sense of waterfront
dangers and the solid smell of masculinity — leather, steel, and oil —
intoxicated John to bold rashness. He became as single-purposed as a ram
in rutting season. He would have his mating even if he had to fight for
it.

John emerged from the shadows, flushed with excitement, wary. The stud
turned his head slowly, barely acknowledged John, nodded slowly, and
then turned his gaze back toward the far shore. John knew that if the
dude was interested it didn't matter how the conversation started.
Almost any words would do as long as he didn't make an ass of himself.
There's always something unexciting about a man who's willing to make an
ass of himself.

"Are you out just for the fresh air or are you lookin' for a little
action tonight?" Bold, but not pushy.

The man lowered his head as if sucbing to an inevitable event. He
threw down his cigarette and placed his brightly polished boot on top of
it. He pushed himself slowly from the cycle, causing the leather of his
jacket and the seat to groan in unison. John felt his adrenaline pumping
as the man turned to face him — a towering, muscular obelisk darkening
the night sky.

"Ain't got nothin' against fresh air." John's muscles tensed to avoid a
punch or a lunge, but the man revealed a disarmingly genuine smile:
virile, confident.

"Ain't got nothin' against a little action, if it suits my taste. Wadja
have in mind?" The man stepped back, easing into a comfortable position
side straddling his cycle. He placed his huge hand on top of the bulge
in his jeans.

John's body trembled in response to the shock that the man's
hand-to-crotch action set up in him; his desire increased with every
movement the stud made. "How about a good blow job? Do you think that'll
shift your gears?"

The stud smiled again. "My gears are already shifted, so why don't ya
show me what you New Orleans boys can do. You'll hafta be tough to take
on this one, but if ya wanna give it a try, go ahead an' hop on it." The
biker made no effort to unbuckle his belt; he just shoved his hips
slightly forward and watched John salivate. "Go ahead man, it's yours if
ya want it."

John wanted it. He dropped to his knees in front of the cycle, between
the rock-hard thighs of the biker. He covered the bulge with his mouth,
working the belt buckle slowly but eagerly. His imagination ran wild
with images of the firm flesh he felt between the leather chaps. The
huge cock was already trying to bust out of the stud's jeans.

John pulled the enormous, fleshy shaft out of its resting place; it was
quickly becoming hard and slightly curved. He covered the tip of it with
his mouth and let most of the cock slide down his throat. The stud
moaned. "Fuck man, I can't believe you're takin' the whole thing. Suck
on it real slow. Deep throat it, man." John did: he was an excellent
cocksucker. He enjoyed watching this butch biker going into a frenzy.

The biker took John's head between his hands and began a pulsating hip
movement, slightly forward, slightly back. John wanted to satisfy this
man totally; he wanted the biker to remember it as the best sex he'd
ever had. "Shit man, I'm gonna come if you keep this up. I need to slow
down and make it last." John slowed the tempo of his cocksucking and
pulled back from the biker's crotch to look up at him: a pet waiting for
his master's command.

"Take your clothes off and brace yourself against the wall. I'm gonna
fuck yer ass." John stood up and removed his shirt and jeans. "Come back
down here and give me a few more strokes with yer mouth. I want it good
and slick when I go for yer ass, cocksucker." John knelt again between
the biker's hard, muscular thighs, staring at the huge piece of flesh
the stud held between his hands. Again, he took it into his mouth and
covered it with lust and spit. The biker gave him a dozen slow, deep
thrusts before pulling John's head back and motioning toward the wall
with his head.

John braced himself, knowing that the fuck he was about to get would be
heavy and violent. The air left his body in agony with the first hard
jab the biker gave him. John moaned aloud at the pain and pleasure of
it; his whole body ached with lust as he felt this man's incredibly
hairy, muscled arms holding onto him while the huge cock racked his
asshole.

"Man, I can't hold back any longer — I gotta come!" John braced himself
for the onslaught. It came quick and hard. The biker forced himself into
John's ass as far as he could get, panting with the effort and the
pleasure. He laid the whole upper part of his torso on John's back and
bit hard into John's shoulder as his body shuddered with his climax.

John thought the scenario was over. He expected the release of tension
to signal an exit through separate stage doors; but the man held out his
hand. "The name's Charles Zebulon Wilke — Chaz, to my friends."

John was elated that this macho bruiser wanted to extend their
encounter. John grasped the outstretched hand. "John Davis."

Chaz adjusted his vest, belt buckle, and jeans. "You're a good fuck,
John, and an excellent cocksucker. I've got a few buddies who'd enjoy
gettin' together with you. I'd enjoy it again, too." Chaz waited to see
how the suggestion would affect John.

"Where are your buddies? Are you sure they'd be hopped up on the idea?"
It was exactly the type of orgy John dreamed about.

"Yeah, I'm sure. They're hangin’ out on a stretch of road just off
Highway 90 between here and Biloxi, about an hour's ride. We'll be here
a few more days. I just came into the city to get away from the noise
for awhile and maybe find a little action." That smile again. John
melted into an even more pliable lump. "If you wanna stop by yer place
to get a few duds, I'll give you a ride."

An hour later John found himself snug against Chaz's broad back, his
hands gripping those strong thighs and firm waist, learning what it felt
like to be "on the road" with a biker. John loved the smell of salty air
along coastal highways. As he rode, he imagined handsome men wandering
the beaches, looking for others like themselves to frolic in the sand on
these sultry southern nights.

Chaz slowed his Harley to a fast crawl and turned onto a dirt road that
was almost impossible to see in the dark. John's adrenaline pumper
started again. He wondered what kind of scene he was being led into.
"Man, I'm gonna get myself into bad trouble one of these days," he
chided himself silently; but he wasn't having regrets. He was excited.
If any one of these dudes was one-tenth as good looking as Chaz, this
night would be a standard to measure all other nights against.

Peering over Chaz's shoulder, John saw a Hell's Angel scene outlined by
the glow of a large fire. John wondered how these men fueled their
campfire. Faggots, doused in gasoline, probably. He scanned Chaz's
features for any hint of hostility, but the biker just seemed glad to be
getting back to his friends.

Chaz pulled his cycle up to a group of four others and shut it down.
John's eyes drank in the scene as he and Chaz dismounted. Four rough,
muscular bikers stared back at him. He couldn't make out their faces,
but he saw enough by the firelight to tell that it was going to be a
night to remember. Light glinted off three tightly clutched beer cans
and a bottle of whisky.

Chaz laid his right arm across John's shoulder and used the crook of his
elbow to pull him closer. John felt the huge bicep bulge against the
back of his neck; the heat of Chaz's body electrified him. His initial
fear of these men began to ebb. "Hey, guys, this is John. He came along
for a little fresh air and a whole lot of action."

The tension broke as easily as it had appeared. John was surrounded by
five muscular, macho bikers, all of them patting his hair, shoulders and
ass, offering him liquor and smoke, and pulling him closer to the fire
as if that movement symbolized their desire for him to feel warm and
comfortable.

The smallest member of the group took a stance in front of John and
firmly grasped his neck. He was about 5'9", with rough, angular features
and an agonizingly beautiful muscle definition proudly displayed through
a leather vest. A soft patch of hair trailed from his navel and burrowed
its way into the crotch of his jeans, disappearing into a dark, rigid,
muscular lair that John longed to lay his head on. He wanted to inhale
the strong scent of sex-splattered man flesh. This biker reminded John
of a high school wrestler he had once known and lusted after.

"Hey, Sparkle, give the guy a break; he hasn't even had time to smoke
his first cigarette." The voice came from the far side of the campfire.
John couldn't see across the glare to tell which of Sparkle's friends
was ribbing him. John thought Sparkle was a perfect name for this
splendid, compact piece of dynamite in front of him.

Sparkle kept his hand on John's neck, but turned his body and face to
yell across the fire at the mystery voice. "Hey, Magnus, why don't you
blow yer brains out and give us all some peace." He turned back to John:
"I just wanted to say . . ."

"I got a piece for ya, Sparkle." Again, the mystery voice interrupted
Sparkle's welcoming speech. "A big, juicy piece if ya think ya can
handle it."

"I just wanted to say — before that asshole interrupted me," Sparkle
said, yelling those last words to the night sky as if begging nature and
the universe to punish his tormentor, "that if Chaz thinks you're okay,
then you gotta be one helluva dude. I'm glad ya came out to see us,
John." Sparkle winked and gave John two love slaps on the cheek. "I'm
lookin' forward to it. Have some of this, it'll brighten your spirits."
Sparkle handed John a bottle of Jack Daniels.

The night progressed. John merged with these men and became a part of
their group, if only for a while. He felt as if he were being primed to
star in a porno movie that would eclipse all fuck films but there were
no cameras, no film crew, no bright lights — just him, Chaz, and four
hunky, horny bikers. He drank, smoked, fondled, and joked with these
five men for hours and never became anxious about starting the sex play.
There was an unspoken, cryptic understanding that Chaz was the leader,
the main instigator.

John lounged against Chaz, enfolded between his arm and torso; he was
pleasantly drunk, pleasantly excited about what was yet to come. Chaz
drew John closer to him and engulfed his mouth and tongue in a deep
kiss. John could feel the giant's body tense; he knew the time had come
for serious action. The joking around the campfire metamorphosed into a
heavy silence. Chaz's breath was hot on John's ear, igniting an urge for
abuse that smoldered beneath John's casual exterior. Chaz presented a
demand in the form of a question: "Are you ready to be manhandled by
five bikers?"

"They don't seem to be too interested in me at the moment." John was
happy having Chaz next to him, but the idea of being gang banged by this
band of five made him burn and tingle with anticipation.

"They'll get around to it . . . real soon." Chaz stood up and took off
his black t-shirt. Then he reached out with both hands and pulled John's
head forward until it rested squarely in the middle of his crotch. "Can
you feel my hard cock, cocksucker?" John felt the semi-rigid dick
swelling under the jeans; he lapped at it with his tongue. Chaz pressed
John's mouth down even harder onto the rising outline of his dick and
began slowly pumping his hips. The other four bikers got up and gathered
around. They formed a circle, holding onto one another's naked torsos,
riveted by Chaz's huge, muscular body and the kneeling figure of John.

"Damn, you have a hot one tonight, Chaz." Magnus spoke in an almost awed
tone. He slowly unbuttoned his jeans and began stroking his meat,
breathing harshly and deeply as if in a trance. "Damn, ohhh damn . . .
man, I'd love to feel that hot mouth on my cock." Magnus groaned out
those words with a guttural intensity John had never heard before. The
sound of it was like an opiate that dulled his mind to anything but sex.
He was primed, ready to do anything that would please Chaz and these
men.

He wanted to turn and pull Magnus's aching cock deep inside his throat
just to be a part of the man, to be an answer to the need epitomized by
the man's deep, sexual grunts; but he knew that Chaz was the master
here; to turn away from him would break the magic that encir-cled the
group. John was so hot he was afraid to touch himself for fear he would
come instantly; he knew his body would burst at the slightest caress. He
clung to the image in front of him and breathed in the heavy smell of
musk, spit and dust. He was entranced.

Magnus continued to breathe out his guttural sex calls while pumping his
cock into a rigid, slippery rod that ached for attention. Chaz reached
out and pulled Magnus close to him, pushing John's head onto Magnus's
swollen dick. Chaz and Magnus began a heavy, lusty tonguing as Magnus
shoved his hard cock into John's throat, pulling John's face onto his
firm stomach. John loved that stomach; with each pumping action he saw
the stomach muscles working beneath the skin. He felt the dark hair
growing damper with the intensity of sweat and spit.

Sparkle lowered himself to his knees and pushed his face against John's
in an effort to get as close as possible to the face-fucking action.
John could feel the desire in Sparkle's heavy breathing; he could see
the sweat standing out on Sparkle's brow in huge beads. Sparkle began to
lick at the balls dangling heavily below Magnus's cock; he gathered them
into his mouth, held them, and then released them. He continued to ply
his tongue over Magnus's balls and inner thighs, gradually working his
way up so that he was licking Magnus's cock where it was not covered by
John's mouth. Sparkle transferred Magnus's cock into his own mouth. He
wanted to be on the receiving end of that magnificent shaft.

Magnus moaned with pleasure at the transfer and began pumping Sparkle's
mouth as eagerly and as deeply as he had John's.

"Take off yer clothes," Chaz demanded. John did as he was told. "Now get
on yer knees and stick yer ass out." John turned around and stooped to a
kneeling position, shifting his weight forward onto his arms and hands.
Chaz began working over John's ass, slapping the cheeks and working his
finger into John's asshole, preparing it for the second onslaught of his
huge dick. John felt the head of Chaz's dick press against him. He felt
the shock of its brutal thrust and he flinched in passionate agony as
the huge cock rammed him and worked its way deeper with each thrust.
Chaz grabbed John's waist and pulled his body back to meet the vicious
pounding of his cock.

"Give me that ass, John. Do you feel that hard dick up there? Damn, that
feels good." Chaz fucked hard and fast.

"Oh, suck it man, suck my cock." John could hear Magnus coaxing this
kneeling cocksucker into an even more frenzied adoration of his hard,
demanding meat. John felt Chaz adjust his fuck rhythm to match Magnus's
swaying hips. The combination was driving John into a delirium of lust;
he longed to be sucking on Magnus's cock at the same time Chaz was
ramming him with his huge, meaty shaft.

The two remaining bikers stepped up to John's face as if in answer to
his need. They were both ruggedly good looking and they held tightly to
one another as they brought their cocks up to meet John's hungry mouth.
John devoured them greedily. He sucked one cock, then transferred to the
other as the men indicated. Sometimes he held both dicks in his mouth at
once, feeling the two heads force themselves halfway in and then
withdraw in unison. One man began jacking himself off while the other
shoved his dick deep into John's throat and held it there.

The biker's thrusts increased in time to Chaz's probing cock; they were
both working up to a frantic climax. John grabbed his own dick and began
jacking off, knowing that both Chaz and the man he was sucking would
come soon. Chaz's forceful fucking motions rocked him solidly onto the
biker's waiting dick.

"Yeah, take it all, man. Take it!" Chaz moaned, violently shoving the
length of his cock into John's ass and spurting a load of warm that
John could feel pumping out of the hard dick. The biker moaned and
pulled John's face onto his cock just as John felt his own climax erupt.
John and the biker shot at the same time. Chaz kept his cock shoved up
John's ass while the biker jacked off on John's shoulder. Magnus pumped
his load deep into Sparkle's throat.

They had all exhausted themselves in a closely timed effort that John
wasn't aware of until it was over.

John stayed with Chaz and the four bikers until early Sunday morning. He
quickly became familiar with the subtle tricks they used to communicate
to one another, both in play and in sex. He began to believe that he
belonged with this lusty band.

"I gotta take ya back, buddy. We'll be splittin' this place today." Chaz
rested his hand on John's hair. John sensed a longing that could only be
satisfied by physical contact.

"I wish I could go with you guys — with you, Chaz."

"Hell, you can go anywhere you want John, but I don't think you really
belong with us."

John knew Chaz was right. The excitement would quickly take on a
staleness and fester if he tried to live a life style he knew little
about. Deep down, he knew that it wasn't the bikers' life he desired. It
was the bikers.

"We'll be back this way from time to time and yer the first guy I'll
check up on." Chaz helped John roll what little gear he had into a small
bundle. Then he took John back to the city.

John continued to haunt the waterfront alleys and dives; but every
encounter was measured by a new standard: Chaz, and the four stud
bikers.

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