Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: n/a
Pairings: Brian/Justin
Category: Gap-filler for Episode 311
Rating: NC-17
Date: June 2, 2003
Victor Hugo
"The young man has no concept of his higher self, but as soon as he realizes his larger part in the Universe, as soon as his sense of immortality is born, then he begins to cast off the earthly and reach up toward the stars."
George Bernard, describing his marble statue, "Struggle of the Two Natures in Man."
"Your cock is really hard," he said, stroking my firmness through the stiff, cold denim.
"Yeah," I rasped. "Try frozen solid."
"Mmmmm," he said affirmatively, licking his lips. "You don't suppose my tongue will stick to it, do you?" He sank slowly, kissing and tasting the leather of my jacket while opening it.
I had searched the cruisingforsex.com web-site for a likely spot for some group action, but the closest "rest" stop I could find was on Interstate-80, almost an hour away from Pittsburgh. Then I heard about this place on gay-com…a temporarily closed truck stop on 380, just west of Murrysville…on the way to Altoona…L&D Services…lots of trailer storage and lots of privacy.
"Pittsburgh Power Tool" was right where they said it would be.
The moans of others could be heard echoing in the vast, metal corridor…moans of pleasure, gasps of arousal, cries of completion... groan of metal as weight shifted against the trailer's walls…the scuffle of boots on the dirty wooden floor…the smell of leather and sweat and of an unrecognizable, recent cargo. He unbuttoned my fly and slipped my jeans down my thighs. As my bare ass hit the icy metal of the rig's side, I shot forward and almost put out his eye. "Aaaaah! Aaaaaahhh!" I cried.
"Are you OK?" he said, looking up in surprise.
"The metal's fucking FREEZING!"
He gripped my shaft by the base and began again, but his lips were cold and my cock had begun to shrivel. "This SUCKS," he said, looking up again, wondering if I wanted him to continue.
"But not in a positive, life-affirming way," I replied.
"There HAS to be someplace else we can go," he said, almost begging to leave.
I leaned my head back against the cold, hard side of the truck. There was…but it wouldn't be the same. Jim Stockwell had already seen to that.
"Hey, man…you just got here. We're just getting' started," said the guy as he swung open the door. "I had my eye on you."
"It was just a social call," I said as I jumped down to the gravel and reached back to help Justin scamper down. "Next time I'll bring a kerosene heater."
"It warms up when another 30 guys show-up. You'd be sweatin' your balls off."
"Some other time," I called over my shoulder, giving a big wave. "Let's go home," I said to Justin.
…………..
Corvettes were made for sex appeal and comfort…but not for intimacy. As hard as he tried, Justin could not make more than hand-contact with me as we sped back to Pittsburgh. Eventually he gave up and settled back into the leather seat.
"This gives me an idea for a future issue of Rage," he said stretching back with his hands behind his neck. "I'll try-out the idea on you, first...then see how Mikey likes it."
"The new arch-villain will be 'Cop-u-lator'…a big guy that wears a skin-tight black lycra suit with a leather chest harness and shoulder holster …he looks a little like you-know-who. The first cell in the storyboard shows Cop-u-lator's henchmen, the 'Cop-tivators,' grabbing young, gay men off Liberty Avenue and throwing them into something that looks like a paddy-wagon. In the second cell, they're naked and gagged…and being fitted for chastity belts. While they're enslaved in a factory making his-and-hers pajamas, they'll be "reprogrammed" by being forced to watch Britanny Spears music videos, Playboy make-out tapes, and old episodes of 'Red Shoe Diaries.'"
"The next cell shows J.T. leaving the Lair while Rage still sleeps after a night of basher-bashing and booty-bumping. He's going out to buy Krispy-Kremes for Rage's breakfast. He rubs is ass, absent-mindedly,… a sign to Copulator's henchmen."
"In the next cell, he's jumped by two henchmen who rip off his clothes…he struggles beautifully with fear in his eyes…and they collar- and cuff-him."
"Next, we see him wearing a chastity belt and tied to a post in a standing position watching videos. Copulator says 'Get your first hetero-hard-on and well let you go.' They crack open the chastity belt and start manipulating his cock. He reaches down to stop them."
"In the next cell, they're cuffing his wrists behind his back as Copulator says 'Give him a hetero-climax and he'll never touch another guy's cock again…or we'll cut his balls off.'"
"Back in the Lair, Rage awakes; his sensitive nose recognizes the absence of his boy…and his super powers inform him of the danger, so he follows the scent of J.T.'s after-shave lotion."
"The next cell shows J.T.'s teary face as he cries 'Rage, save me! They're gonna nut me.'"
"Rage appears and finds one of the Coptivators holding a knife to J.T.'s stretched ball-sac. He turns to Copulator and starts using his mind-control powers on him while he strokes his own muscular chest, bulging abs, and enormous cock through the costume which begins to fray as it is stretched beyond its limits. Copulator goes berserk and screams 'Gotta have it!!!' His henchmen jump him and tear him to pieces while Rage frees J.T."
"In the next cell, Rage bends over the mangled body of Copulator and retrieves the handcuff keys from his pocket. 'We'll use these cuffs at home,' he says with a clenched, square jaw and a curled lip."
I laughed. "So you think Rage can turn a homophobic hetero into a faggot?" I queried. "That's quite a story…and some pretty impressive visual images."
He smiled with satisfaction and remained silent a moment as we traversed a particularly complicated set of off-ramps and lane-changes approaching the city.
"Have you ever used YOUR mind-control powers on a straight guy?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Not since high school," I replied. "And then it wasn't because I wanted to recruit straight guys and turn them gay…I did it mostly for self-defense…and occasionally to show a straight guy what he was missing. I gave one guy a blow-job once because I wanted to prove to him that a guy could do it better than his girlfriend…because I knew how it felt and because I could make it feel better because of that. I guess I was a little too convincing because he wanted it at least once a week, or more often…and then he wanted me to do it for his buddies. That's when I told him I'd expose him to the whole school…and he left me alone after that. But I have no interest in straight guys now. I occasionally find a straight guy attractive and desirable...worth the effort...but I usually don't act on it. Some guys consider them a "trophy"…but they're usually fumbling amateurs, not worth the effort. Unless you're into domination to alleviate some self-doubt or non-consensual fucking to satisfy a grudge, I'd choose a cooperative ass or mouth any day. And there are plenty of willing gay guys to enjoy…an endless supply." I nodded and winked on that last phrase, letting him know I was just saying it to tease him.
He rearranged his cock in his jeans, demonstrating his willingness.
………………………….
In the loft, we fucked like rabbits, moving from place to place and eventually ending-up in the big bed with the warm glow of the new lights. I flipped him onto his back and dove to swallow his cock, making him gasp with surprise. I looked up to watch his face, but his fingers in my hair pulled my head onto him with such force and when he arched his back to drive his shaft even deeper, I lost sight of his face. His fingernails raked my shoulders, drawing blood.
"I love it…I love it…I love it…" he repeated like a malfunctioning CD. He arched his back again, driving his cock into me with such force, I choked…and pulled off to slow the tempo. (Memo-to-self…don't use musical terms to describe sex.) He lunged at me, crazy with the urgency to finish him. And he was trying to stimulate me at the same time…a frantic flurry of touching, stroking, and pinching.
I rolled to the edge of the bed and reached underneath, looking for the handcuffs. Justin need to learn the pleasure of doing nothing…of focusing his entire attention on his own pleasure instead of feeling as if he had to respond to each caress with another more stimulating one. I clicked the first cuff on him before he realized it, then rolled him over onto his belly and brought his wrists together behind his back as I forced the second cuff around his wrist. He struggled, first in surprise, and then in a mock attempt to free himself. I rolled him onto his back again, crushing his arms beneath his lower spine. And before he could resist, I dove to suck his cock again, this time without any interference. I sucked him the way I had been taught…through trial-and-error and by-example…like experts had sucked me…like I would suck myself if I could. Relentlessly. Slowly. Changing the pace as soon as he became accustomed to it…changing my mouth and lips to provide pressure or friction…using my tongue to guide his shaft against soft membranes…regulating my saliva-flow. Stimulating enough to keep him at-the-peak…gentle enough so he could feel it and learn from it…long enough so he could focus on the pleasure instead of the techniques themselves…persistent enough so he thought it would never end.
He started begging me then…first in his masculine, mature voice…then in his whimpering boy-voice…wanting me to let him cum. He gasped with each stroke of my lips along his shaft. His legs, suspended in the air, began to pump slowly in-rhythm. With his mouth open wide and his head thrust back, all I could see was his chin jutting toward the ceiling. His chest rose and fell as he moaned incoherently. It was time.
Just a few move quick strokes with my hand around the base of his shaft and I could feel the pressure surging up his urethra. The first spurt shot far into the recesses of my throat; I swallowed tightly and pulled-off, providing even more suction. His second shot hit the roof of my mouth and nearly filled the cavity. I stopped moving and let him shoot the rest without help. A small amount escaped to dribble down my chin onto his ballsac.
I let his cock slide slowly from my lips, then crawled up over his torso. As my mouth approached his, he opened his lips for a wide-mouth kiss…and I slowly opened my lips and let his load drip into his mouth and over his lips. He swirled his tongue to taste it…then I delivered the last remaining drops in a long, slow, juicy kiss as my tongue delved deep to retrieve the gift he'd given me.
I rolled him over and removed the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists to restore the circulation, then climbed atop my chest. "I want you to fuck me the hardest you've ever fucked me," he moaned. "I want you to fuck me the way you did in New York…hard enough that I felt it for days…and never recovered, actually. I had never known it could be that way…."
"Are you developing mind-reading super-powers?" I asked with a grin.
I positioned him on all-fours…hands and knees…with his boy-ass at the apex of spread knees. I checked his position and stability by running my palms along his outer thighs, feeling the soft, blond hair of his legs. I had never seen an ass like his…smooth and round…the right proportions of fat and muscle…the hairless cleft…the puckered sphincter…the "Y" at the top of his crack and the two dimples with perfect symmetry.
At that moment, I wanted him more than ever before. Despite all he knew about me... after all the difficulties he'd suffered... despite all my hang-ups and failings... he was still here, begging to please me, ...wanting to share the intimacy. It was beyond my comprehension.
We had done everything that two men can do together. And he wanted to re-live those moments over-and-over again with me. And each time became better than the last.
I bent to down to kiss that softest-of-all-spots in the concave small of his back. My tongue lingered as I decided whether to kiss upwards along his spine or to descend into the privacy of his ass-crack. He answered my subliminal question by reaching back with one hand to spread his ass-cheeks suggestively. I drove my chin into the soft, proximal beginning of his crack as I sat back onto my haunches. He swayed gently. I steadied his hips with my hands... like holding a large cantaloupe and preparing to lick the nectar from its moist interior. I lowered my head, driving my chin deeper into his valley as my tongue flicked-out to taste his distinctive flavor. He moaned gently, knowing this was only the prelude.
As I rimmed him, I pulled his cock back between his legs. He obliged by spreading them. He was still semi-hard... and the tip was red. I pressed it upwards into his crack so that my tongue could lubricate both hole and head with my saliva. My fingers stroked gently along the upper surface of his shaft, in-rhythm with my oral ministrations. He was breathing faster now...anticipating. His soft skin trembled against my cheeks. His anus puckered and retreated as my tongue swirled into its depths. He rocked slowly forward and back...pressing my face deeper into his canyon.
"Aaaaahhhh...you do that SO well," he murmured in that voice which was so full of pleasure it borders on pain. I could envision his face...eyes closed, teeth clenched...off in another world of pleasure.
My free hand stroked the expanse of his back... as smooth as his ass...with luscious contours, firm muscles, and tight skin. He had turned from the soft young boy I had first met, to the lithe youth of tonight. Nothing promotes beauty and self-improvement quite as well as the desire to please another.
"You're driving me crazy," he moaned again as he reached back to cup the back of my head in his palm as if to push me even deeper.
"I'm just warming-up," I said before diving deeper.
His moan was unintelligible.
Using both hands now, I spread his crack with both thumbs to open him like a new book. My wide tongue traversed the exposed depths. Soap and musk and sweat...my three favorite flavors at Dave and Andy's.
Sliding my thumbs up and out of his crack, I continued upward with the broad expanse of my palms as I rose to my knees again. As the fronts of my thighs met the bubbles of his ass, my stiff cock rested along his upper crack and lower back...an indication of how far it would penetrate. A clear drop of pre-cum dripped onto his skin; I massaged it in with the pad of my thumb. Then, sliding my hands back down his back to his hips, I positioned him for penetration. He knew what was coming. I stripped the pre-lubed condom onto my throbbing shaft.
We had done this so many times before...but each penetration, each insertion, each enveloping of my sensitive shaft by his hot interior was a delight so wonderful it took my breath away. The intimacy of two-becoming-one magnified the pleasure.
"Oh, fuck me," he whispered as I pressed it into him quickly and smoothly. "Fuck me, fuck me. I want you."
"I want you, too." Did the words leave my lips or simply echo in my head.
I fucked him then...harder than ever. My groin slapped his ass on the in-stroke and my hands guided his hips on the outstroke, positioning him for the next thrust. He grunted rhythmically...and so did I, through clenched teeth.
..........
There is no way to describe the pleasure...no words can express it, even though I have tried before. The guy who makes his living with words and images, is finally beyond the limits of his abilities. The sensations can be described individually...like the features on a car... but that shit only gets the customers into the showroom...it's the test-drive that sells the product. And, until someone has fucked like this, they have no idea how it feels.
..........
Sweat...on my forehead, first...then a sheen on my chest and a gentle drip down my lat.
Open-mouthed breathing...filling my lungs like a marathon racer pacing himself for Heartbreak Hill.
The redness of his skin, beginning on his ass where my thighs collide with his soft mounds, but then spreading up his back to his shoulders...the blush of eroticism. On his front, I remembered, his chest turned red as his nipples hardened into tight eraser-tips.
Repositioning. Changing the angle for deeper penetration and more stimulation...for both of us. Changing the rhythm to keep us both at the pinnacle of arousal.
Feeling my muscles tense as the blood surged through them. Thinking, in a detached, out-of-body sort of way, how our bodies might look to an observer. A Greek statue in-motion. "The Rape of Narcissus."
The moans of pleasure, rising in intensity until they were roars of passion.
The mindlessness of it...the reflex drive for pleasure...the animalistic coupling...the primitive need, incarnate.
My body arched over him; my forelock brushed his back. My hands on his back, partially supporting my weight...partially holding him in-position.
I reached with my right hand to snag a handful of his long, blond hair. Using it to pull him onto me, I slammed harder into his depths. He matched me, thrust-for-thrust, rocking back to absorb each impact. He clung to me with tight muscles and deep suction, trying to retain me at the withdrawal.
I came then, filling the condom buried deep in his interior...and so did he, spontaneously, all over the blue sheets. I slipped one arm under his chest to support myself. His heart was beating powerfully against the pulse of my forearm. I collapsed forward with all my weight on his back...and he, in-turn, collapsed forward face-first into the pillow with my cock still buried deep.
With my hand in his hair again, I turned his head so he could breathe. We lay that way for several seconds...that short period when no one can speak. I pulled out of him slowly and felt him wince under me as the tip cleared his sphincter.
I rolled onto my back, still breathing heavily. He followed, rolling onto his side with his back against my side. "Aaahhhh....that was GREAT!" he said, turning his head at a sharp angle to speak to me over his shoulder.
"Aaaaa-mazing." I reached for a cigarette.
"And climate-controlled," he continued with a chuckle.
I gasped affirmatively. "Stockwell's finally done it," I said, flicking the lighter. "Forced us to stay at-home and fuck in our beds."
"You're the one who's helped him turn us into straight, law-abiding citizens," he said with a grin as he rolled even closer, bumping my hip with his ass on the word "straight."
I glanced at him quickly, then took a hot drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly through my nostrils, letting the burn permeate my head. "Call me Doctor Spin," I said.
"You could be Doctor Evil," he countered.
I admit his comment startled me. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then rolled out of bed to head for the refrigerator.
I took another drag and held it longer. "Dr. Evil?" I thought. I'd never really thought of what I did as "evil." Rebellious? Yes, always. Marching to my own drummer? Yes. Self-serving? Yes, often. But not evil. How did Gibran distinguish between good and evil? (Now, where-in-Hell did I put that book?) His writings were what had guided me in the past. I stripped-off the condom and wrapped it in a tissue. My cock lay in a curve along my belly, still partially turgid and sensitive. I brushed it gently with my thumb as if to say "Job well done."
Evil is not the absence of good. Good and evil are simply the opposite outcomes of the opposing passions of Love and Hate. In the passionless center lies Inaction...no Passion, just Reason...thinking hard, but doing nothing. What I had done for Jim's campaign wasn't evil; it was good strategy... it was self-serving...and benign, at best.
"You are good when you strive to give of yourself.
Yet you are not evil when you seek gain for yourself.
For when you strive for gain you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks at her breast.
Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, "Be like me, ripe and full and ever giving of your abundance."
For to the fruit giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root."
If Jim's intentions are "evil," which I had not originally perceived them to be, does my help with his campaign put me in the "Evil-camp?" Jim's campaign staff is like a bunch of eunuchs; they know how, but they can't. I'm merely the passionless means by which his campaign moves ahead...and I like that role because it furthers my career. Give me a conjecture; I can spin a rumor. Give me a rumor; I can spin a fact. Give me a fact; I can spin a policy. And give me a policy, and I can spin an election victory. If "the ends justify the means" when the ends are good, ...do the means deserve condemnation when the ends are bad? Could I remain an innocent by-stander and still direct the parade?
Justin returned with a bowl of ice cream dripping with chocolate sauce. After sex, all I wanted was a cigarette; but he was young...his teenage appetite kicked into gear. He sprawled beside me, licking the spoon suggestively like a male Lolita licking a lollypop.
"Do you think what I do for Jim's campaign is 'evil'?" I asked, resuming the conversation where it had stopped.
"No," he replied, pausing to take another bite and permit the slightest drip to remain on his full lips. "I didn't mean it that way. I know you're not an arch-villain...just confused sometimes....and trying very hard to succeed." He licked his lip and smiled. "You push yourself too hard. And you're too smart for your own good sometimes. But that's not what I meant. I meant that you COULD be Dr. Evil if I could convince you to work against Stockwell instead of for him."
"I can't work against him...especially now," I replied, rolling onto my back and looking at the ceiling. He took a spoonful of chocolate sauce and dribbled it onto my pec; a small drip surged over the overhang and crept slowly toward my pit. He lunged with his tongue to retrieve it before it hit the sheet...then returned to lick the now-warm sauce from my skin, managing to guide some of it onto my nipple. Pretending to ignore him, I continued. "There's not a lot of ethics involved in advertising...but loyalty to a paying client is the First Commandment. 'Thou shalt not roast the golden goose.'"
"Well, maybe you don't need to violate his trust. Maybe you should just give him good advice and hope it doesn't work. Or you hope he screws-up big-time." He filled his mouth with ice cream as if to close-off further conversation.
Intentional failure had never been one of my personal goals. How could I give Jim good advice and, at the same time, guide him to a loss?
Then it hit me. I took another long drag and let the realization burn into my brain just like the hot smoke in the back of my nose. Jim wanted to be "a candidate of the people." That means ALL the people....even the ones who feel disenfranchised, left-out, or discriminated against. They had a right to learn first-hand what Jim was all about...and how his election would affect them. I knew quite a bit about Jim....things that I valued...his attention to family life, his respect for order, his truthfulness...but I didn't know what was truly inside....what the passion of anger might expose when he was confronted or ridiculed. Instead of trying to hide the truth...the typical advertising approach...perhaps it was time for some complete, open exposure. It could make him or break him. The people deserved to know. The polls showed the race was getting tighter. And it was time to plan the last spot before the election...something sweeping and epic. Something to put Jim in the context of the entire city. A man for ALL the people.
Justin rolled onto his side again and rested his forearm on my chest. He looked at me intently, eye-to-eye. "I can't ask you...I won't ask you to violate Jim's trust in you. And I didn't mean that you were evil. It's like....what may seem evil in one dimension, like exposing the true nature of a client you're supposed to be helping...might be viewed as "good" in another dimension, like protecting the rights of young gay-boys of Gayopolis. Super-heroes often seem to be able to jump from one dimension to another at the drop of a leotard. But, without the ability to time-travel, I'm afraid you can't go back and change your decision to assist with his campaign."
"There you go with the super-hero talk again," I said pulling him closer with my arm around his shoulder. We kissed briefly and let our foreheads remain in-contact. "Does Rage keep saving J.T. from one scrape after another...and taking him back to the Lair to fuck his brains out?"
"I didn't describe the last cell in the episode for you," he said, looking up quickly and enthusiastically. "We see them in bed...black sheets, blue lights...positioned sorta like this..." he said, adjusting his position slightly. "They've obviously just finished a monumental fuck and they're basking in the after-glow."
"Where do you get ideas like this?" I asked, running the pad of my thumb across his lips softly.
"It's just a matter of time," he continued. "J.T. will be the new side-kick as soon as he picks-out an appropriate costume. And together they'll fight for the rights of gay-boys everywhere. Even in the Straight World."
"Will Copulator return?" I asked, feigning concern.
"The forces of Evil never die. They always return several episodes later. But the gay-boys of Gayopolis may be learning a few lessons themselves. They may not need to summon Rage every time. (They use an image of an erect penis beamed into the sky, by the way.) And as far as Stockwell is concerned, we don't actually need your help," he murmured. "My posters have him fuming already. He's sure to self-destruct, given the right time and the opportunity."
"I've already thought about that," I said, kissing him again and rolling toward him and atop him. "And politicians make such strange bed-fellows...and even worse bed conversation. We'll solve all this in the morning. You're staying tonight, by the way." He rested his cheek against my chest. His hair brushed my lips as his head rose and fell with each of my breaths. Without disturbing him, I reached up to turn off the light.
In darkness, I felt 19 again...a life of promise ahead of me, in the arms of someone who loved me, totally joined with him for eternity...the warmth, the touching, the euphoria of loving and being loved. I closed my eyes to let the dream take me there.