Gay for XXX

Revised version copyright 2006 by the author.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a short, light piece I dashed off based on something that really happened to me. Real life, alas, didn’t go nearly as far as this story. KN

I never get a haircut until I absolutely have to. I don’t like waiting, or making small talk with some blonde with teased hair who’s only being nice to me because she’s hoping for a big tip.

But it was constantly falling in my face, and I could even feel it weighing down on my head. It was time to go.
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After the enormous feedback from readers on my earlier experience with the watchman next door, I knew I had to write about another experience I had many years ago. This one too gets me very hot and horny whenever I think about it.

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Like the previous incident, this one happened many years ago. It had been a long and tiring day. I had a lot of work in college and was on my way home when I decided to go to the barber shop near our house for a desperately needed haircut. It was around 8:30 pm when I got there, and they were getting ready to close. After much cajoling, one of the two barbers there said that he would give me a haircut and lock up shop, and told his friend that he could leave.
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The great General’s favourite son Prince Kasim, had been kidnapped, and was being held for ransom by a party of wild Mongol raiders. They had carried him off to an abandoned fort in the rocky hills at the edge of the great desert plains. There the Mongol’s leader had fucked the helpless young prince well, as the prince cried out for more. And he had then told Kasim that one of his raiders had a weapon as large as the famous barbarian Konan’s, and the man would fuck him as well as the barbarian could. But first Kasim had to agree to write the letter to his father begging for a large ransom to be paid for his release.
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“Rescue my son, and you can have your freedom,” the Moghul’s great general had said to me.

And now I clung to the top of the ruined wall that surrounded the rough cobbled yard in which the wiry Mongolian horsemen were holding him. The general’s son was one of many the general had, but Kasim had been made a prince as he was the most handsome and most intelligent. And all knew he was a favourite of the Great Moghul himself, as well as of his father, the Moghul’s great general.

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I don’t know what was so appealing about the entire experience. The anonymity of it? The smell of piss? The aroma of cum? The scent of mansweat, cocks, balls, armpits and asses? Perhaps the subtle movement of a strange hand across my ass, chest or expanding crotch? The stickiness of the concrete floor? That unspoken need and desire expressed in the eyes of men shuffling up and down the aisles shopping for a possible fuck, suck or stroking? The fear, or excitement, of possibly getting caught?

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© Sadie-Rose Bermingham 2003

“Easy Money!” Rabid John told Ray in the pub. “Close yer eyes, spread yer legs, easy as fallin’ outta bed!”

John was a skinny, bug-eyed Yorkshire exile, who made his money on the mean streets around Mile End. He might have been twenty or fifty, it was hard to say, and Ray did not ask. John had a temper, especially when he hadn’t scored. To him, Raymond Wilde was a means to an end. The lad was pretty for a start; he looked younger than his nineteen years and he was green as grass when it came down to business. Hadn’t a fuckin’ clue!
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Sitting at my table pondering what it would take to change my story I watched the black man walk up in front of the desk and say, “All rise.” He continued talking but I lost focus on what he was saying as the men next to me gently grabbed my arm and had me stand up. An older white man in a long dark robe walked in and sat down. The black man said loudly, “You may be seated.” He then turned to the man at the desk, said something I didn’t catch, and then headed back to where I had first noticed him. Looking him over closely, I glanced back to my pad and paper and crossed out a few lines and then continued my story.
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Sitting at the table with an empty pad of paper and a pen I had wanted to begin writing something, a poem, a story, maybe even a novel. All it would take is for me to pick up the pen and start and yet, I kept feeling things spin in my head as I struggled with what I was going to write. Each time I’d be certain I was ready, I’d grab the pen, but my mind would twirl off, twisting and whirling around, whirling around… well whirling around the tall black man I could just see if I peeked to my right.
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Jake thought I was concentrating on his typically long-winded explanation of why the Singapore office hadn’t sent in their section of the Arnold proposal, but I wasn’t. I was sitting there, rocking back and forward in my leather chair, with my back to the whole spread of the Baltimore Inner Harbor from my eighteenth-floor World Trade Center office and looking right past Jake, over his shoulder, and at what was happening out at the reception desk.

That new eye candy receptionist, Stephanie, was having her effect on the UPS guy. They had become quite chummy in the two weeks she’d worked here. Now he was perched on the counter across from her desk in his brown UPS uniform, baggy shorts and all. He was quite a looker himself. Blond with carefully curled and blown hair and the physique of a serious body builder. He was sitting on the edge of the counter and pulling his legs up with his hands below his knees. It was almost obscene. When he pulled his legs up you could follow the curve of his meaty thighs right up toward his crotch. And now he was pulling his legs apart. If I’d been closer, I know I could see right up to where it got really interesting. And he and Stephanie were just chatting away. It just wasn’t natural the way he was showing leg, and it certainly shouldn’t be going on in an office. Why, Stephanie might be getting a real eyeful.
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This story is entirely fiction—no superstar was compromised writing it. The story has a copyright and can not be used without written consent.

My special thanks to “Isle of Joy” for his superb editing of my story.

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Synopsis: Zack McGraw had been a hot prospect—golden boy for San Diego/Blazers. An injury forced management to rethink his contract—it was their decision Zack was to be traded down to the El Paso/Rumble; he was lucky to be picked up by any team, even the minors.
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