Samesex/watstran
                                       Barry
                              Watcher and the Stranger
            Now that he thought of it, he _did_ remind himself not to pack so much this
             time. At the curb, an army of bellpersons stormed him like so much smoke.
             "I'm fine, really. I'll handle it myself. Thanks." In unison, the squadron
             turned heel and scattered. Some of them didn't speak any English, but they
                              all knew "fuck off" when they heard it.
              He liked to dress for travel. His trademark beat-up sweatshirt and jeans
             didn't win him any compliments as he boarded in LA, but that was okay. But
             this, this was different. Shlepping his (must be 200 pounds; did I pack an
               anvil in here?) luggage across the threshold of the Grand Kempinski's
               entrance doors left him feeling very slovenly indeed. His back spasmed
                      briefly as he lowered his bags. Use your knees, stupid.
             He shrugged off the sneer from the counter help as he checked in. Against
              his objections, she rang for a bellhop. No avoiding it now. A uniformed
             mule snapped-to and shouldered the bags. A slight rolling of the bellman's
               eyes said it all. Great. Now _everyone_ knows I brought too much shit.
                The room was about as nice as a hotel gets; they all have a certain
              claustrophobic squalor to them. He had flown out on a Friday to get the
            super-saver fare. Better things to do with a Friday night than sit alone in
               my hotel room, he thought. The parties and heavy drinking didn't start
                         until next week--what _would_ he do with himself?
            Actually, there was no mystery here. He always worked from the same menu of
               harmless vices when he traveled. Liquor was an absolute priority. Room
            service booze is for idiots. A call to the front desk revealed the location
               of a store nearby. While he was out, he thought he might indulge that
                                           _other_ vice.
              The clerk at the liquor store smiled broadly. Drinking was reserved for
            trips, and only after all the business of the day was done. He had no fears
             of drinking problems, even as he stuffed his three bottles into the paper
             sack and headed out. He could put it away. Enough liquor and mixer to last
                the week, for sure. Maybe even enough to share, if it came to that.
              It never seemed to. He always traveled primed for that chance meeting he
             read about in the Playboy fantasy pages all the time, but he never managed
                                  to make so much as eye contact.
             He had located a shop--it was a fair drive away--that offered up the tools
              to satisfy the rest of his shopping list. The Marine behind the counter
            silently filled his request for quarters, firing off a look of disgust that
             had "I'm only doing this for the money, you scumbag" written all over it.
            Pushing the curtain aside, an array of poorly-constructed booths lay before
             him, with equipment whirring and a jumble of scratchy soundtracks filling
            the room. There was plenty of eye contact to be had here, but all the wrong
             kind. It was Friday night, and the hookers and pushers were cruising up a
             storm. It was okay, even a little exciting; nobody ever said a word or got
             pushy. He did notice that he was being tracked--at a discrete distance--by
               an athletic blonde in a cut-off shirt. Those muscles were his business
             card, and when he knew he was being looked at, he'd immediately lock eyes
            with his examiner. Eyes that said, "I'll do you real good." Nice technique.
                           Left no doubt that the man knew his business.
             Light moved the shadows for a moment as a squat, nervous man wobbled into
              the room. Here was a man with a mission, he thought, watching the little
              man scan quickly from booth to booth, looking for that familiar circular
             hole between the booths. Finding one, he seemed greatly relieved. The man
              shot a look around the room, locked onto Mr. Eyes, and hurried into the
             booth. Quarters hit bottom, and moaning male voices came squawking through
            the speaker. The hooker took the booth next to him, arching eyebrows at the
             observer as he disappeared. "Could've been you," he intoned in a practiced
                                               voice.
                He suddenly felt self-conscious--how long have I been standing here
              watching this? The wry smile on the pretty black woman clued him that it
               had been long enough. Well, damn it, he was here to shop, but not for
               _that_. He nodded politely at his would-be hostess, found a booth that
            _didn't_ have the requisite glory hole, and stepped inside. The black woman
              shuffled away as he did, muttering to herself. Shitty break, he thought,
                            but fucking a hooker wasn't his idea of fun.
             The floor was soaked, and his nose wrinkled as he pushed some tissues over
            to try to absorb a recently-expelled load. The musky smell was something he
              had gotten used to, though, and even liked a little. All eight quarters
                  found their way into the coin box, and the screen came to life.
              Of the 11 channels, six were rewinding, and four were so noisy that the
                 picture wasn't visible. He mashed the channel button repeatedly in
            frustration. What a waste! He parked on channel 3 and waited for the others
                                             to rewind.
              The soundtrack synced with the one the little man had selected, and two
            muscular men writhed around the screen. He was caught, for a moment, by the
                 shapely curve of one man's ass. They were both naked, and, by any
             standards, both very attractive. On the screen, the men wrestled, laughing
            and tumbling on the floor, muscles straining and sweat glistening. Finally,
             the man with the nice ass (well, he had to admit, it _was_ nice) seemed to
                    lose, and the winner began running his hands over his prize.
               The watcher stared as the men caressed each other, very lovingly, and
              exchanged kisses that seemed deep and real. This wasn't something he was
             used to seeing in porno. He watched on, and hardly noticed that his heart
                                         had begun to race.
               The caressing continued, hands drifting over backs and inside thighs,
                 kneading and circling. The winner's hand inched, teasingly, up his
               conquest's thigh. As the cocks on the screen began to rise, so did the
              watcher's. He felt a little flush--this was new--but he remained fixed.
               Finally, the winner's hand found its way to the stiffening cock, first
                gently massaging the balls, then tracing lines up the staff. He then
              grasped it firmly, causing his parter to raise his (yeah, nice!) ass off
             the bed. The camera went to close-up to show the exquisite stiffness, the
                     purple head fully engorged thanks to the expert handling.
              Several seconds of manipulation ensued, and both men became involved in
              stroking and kissing, cocks at full mast, hips pushing into each stroke.
              The loser began to kneel, but his bester shook his head and invoked the
              privilege of collecting war spoils. He kneeled before his defeated foe,
              never ceasing to pump slowly with one hand, and cupped the balls in his
             other. He licked his lips, and let his target stand on its own, twitching
                     in anticipation as he approached it. His lips parted, and
              SNAP! The screen went back to the title display, shaking him out of his
             daze. He panicked for a moment, thinking he forgot what channel that was--
               3, right? He memorized the title, and exited the booth. There were the
              eyes, locking first with his, and then jumping south. The watcher's eyes
            followed instinctively, and he was surprised by his own crazed erection. He
              looked up to meet the eyes again, but this time they were no more than a
             foot away. The watcher swallowed hard and feared for his life, and felt a
              hand brush ever-so-slightly against his dick. "Twenty for everything you
             saw in there." The eyes motioned toward the booth--he must have heard the
              soundtrack. Something inside the watcher's head said "go for it!" as he
            stood toe-to-toe with the smiling boy. But no. Shame and confusion overtook
               him as he tossed the curtain aside and rushed into the parking lot. He
                   looked back nervously to see if he had been followed. No one.
               A deep breath was called for, and taken. He sank into his car's seat,
              fumbling for his keys. Got to think this one through. I watched two men
                getting it on, and found it very exciting. They seemed so into it, I
                           couldn't help myself. What does that make me?
               Wait a fucking minute. He stopped in mid-fumble, and mentally slapped
               himself. What am I getting so shook up about? I got randy over two men
              making out. I'm not some neanderthal. I can deal with it. Forget that, I
                                         want to know more!
             He was already back inside by the time that last thought was completed. He
              marched purposefully up to the clerk, and asked to rent the title he had
             seen on channel 3. The clerk winced ("great, a _faggot_ scumbag. I wish my
              mom would let me move back in"), and the watcher rushed to pad the order
             with the first hetero porn title his eyes came upon. The clerk handed over
             the bag as if contaminated, and disappeared. "Probably washing his hands,"
                                        thought the watcher.
               An all-night "regular" video rental place handed over a rental VCR in
              exchange for a $200 imprint of his credit card. He parked in the garage,
               hoisted his booty, and headed for the doors of the hotel. The bellhops
              converged, then dispersed again as they remembered that the fuck-off man
                          could handle his own bags, screw you very much.
              Minutes later, the room was stocked with ice, a glass filled with liquid
             sedative solution (and a twist of lime), and the VCR cabled to the TV. He
             reached for a video, and grabbed the channel 3 title. Not yet, he thought.
              A little too much to deal with in such short time. The hetero porn tape
                      went into the VCR, and he carried his drink to the bed.
            The tape went exactly as every other porno tape he'd ever seen: bad acting,
              superfluous plots, limp dicks and overdubbed soundtracks. It was that or
            Oprah reruns, and it was as good a background as any for the drinks. Oddly,
              he viewed the humping and sucking on screen with a detachment he hadn't
            experienced before; there was no burning need to unbutton his fly, in fact,
                                         no hard-on at all.
            Partway through the third stiff drink, the film faded to black. Hallelujah,
            he thought. It wasn't until he came to his feet that he remembered how much
              he had to drink. He liked that slightly off-balance sensation. He wasn't
                       bombed, but was clearly inebriated. Cruising altitude.
              Any embarassment or shame he felt earlier was gone now, drowned or just
              plain gone. The "other" tape threaded and whirred away, and the watcher
              settled back onto the bed with a fresh (and considerably less alcoholic)
               drink in hand. The titles rolled, complete with cheesy music, and the
                watcher noticed an erection coming on before any skin was visible on
                                              screen.
              In an opening scene, two somewhat less attractive men had gotten down to
             serious sucking, but the watcher was similarly enraptured. They knew just
             what to do, taking the shaft deep for a few strokes, then backing off and
              swirling around the tip. As he studied, he felt the same flush he'd felt
               earlier, and found that his cockskin seemed about ready to split. He'd
                 never been this excited, and he reached for the snap on his jeans.
               The phone rang. Shit! He considered not answering, but he was there on
                         business. Could be some client with an emergency.
                                              "Hello?"
                                              "Larry?"
                           "What?" The soundtrack seemed much louder now.
                                          "Is this Larry?"
                                    "No. Nobody here by that..."
             "Look, I'm in the lobby. 1714, right? I'm on my way up to get those drinks
                                         you promised me."
                                              "But..."
             Click. The stranger was on his way up. Did I make an appointment I forgot
              about? Or is this the guy from the adult bookstore? There wasn't time to
            think. The elevator chimed, and the door rattled with a powerful knock only
            seconds later. Might as well open it and figure this thing out. Besides, he
               was at least one sheet to the wind, and not thinking clearly enough to
                                       formulate a strategy.
             He opened the door. A tall, well-formed man with wavy brown hair stood in
             the doorway, but not for long. "Hey, nice room. I wound up at the Holiday
            Inn. What a shithole." The stranger was inside, and made a beeline straight
             for the liquor. "Ahhh. Booze. You can't know how happy I am to see this."
              The stranger's eyes settled on the TV, where two scantily-clad men were
             wrestling furiously and pulling at each other's clothes. The mixer he was
             pouring overflowed the glass and spilled out onto the counter as his eyes
                                 and mouth widened simultaneously.
               Geez! The watcher sprinted to the VCR and fumbled for the STOP button.
             Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit! as he pressed one button after another. The
             men were tearing clothes off each other in fast motion now, the first pair
               of briefs coming off just as the cord was pulled from the wall. "Video
             store fucked up" was the only explanation he offered. "Help yourself to a
              drink and have a seat." He moved briskly to the bathroom to see just how
             red his face was. A few deep breaths, a splash of cold water, and a flush
             of the toilet left him feeling a bit less rattled. He listened intently at
              the bathroom door to see if he could figure out what the stranger was up
             to, and swore he heard the crappy soundtrack music very low. He opened the
             door slowly, to find the stranger eyeing the description on the box of the
               evening's first tape. "She's cute. But she isn't in the movie, right?"
               Good, no reason to be ashamed of a liking for porn. Wait--where is the
                                      other box? I left it...
              His eyes shot to the counter where he remembered laying the box down; it
               wasn't there. It had been moved to the table, or had it? Maybe he was
                                      drunker than he thought.
            "No, the great-looking women on the boxes are _never_ in the movies, or, at
             least, not looking as good as that." The stranger chuckled and eased back
             in his chair. There. Crisis averted. Now to find out who the hell this guy
                                                is.
              "You have me at a disadvantage; I must confess that I don't know who you
                                               are."
              "That's okay," the stranger said as he waved off any significance to the
              question. "We met at this show last year. We rested our feet in the bar
              after a particularly long day. You left after one drink, telling me you
             preferred to drink in your room. Cheaper, and better atmosphere, you said.
              That's when I invited myself to share a drunk with you sometime, and you
             said "sure." Maybe you didn't mean it, you know, like "let's do lunch." If
                                      you want me to leave..."
             "No, no, if I said "sure," I meant "sure." But how did you come to call me
                                              Larry?"
             "Wrong one, huh? I'm lousy with names. Look, it seems like I'm not welcome
                                      here, so I'll just go."
             The stranger stood, but the watcher was determined. If his mood was to be
             ruined, at least he could have a drinking companion for a while. Besides,
                                          he had a nice...
            Stop that! Stupid asshole. Don't let your liquor and libido gang up on you.
              Jerking off to tapes and smiling at gigolos are one thing, but get that
            _other_ thought out of your mind. The block was in place. It was shaky, but
             it held. He poured a mild drink for himself, bade his guest to remain, and
                       resumed his station on the bed, propped up by pillows.
               The unidentifiable sitcom was pre-empted by the stranger's hand on the
              volume knob. The TV was the only light in the room, so he didn't turn it
                    off, but obviously wanted to talk and didn't wish to shout.
                                   "You sure know how to travel."
             The watcher remembered the elephantoid load of luggage and sneered. "Yeah,
              right. I fucked up my back lugging the entire contents of my closet into
                          this place. I definitely do _not_ travel well."
              "Oh, but you do where it counts. Liquor and porn, in the comfort of your
              own room. Porno might be bad, but it's always better than whatever's on
             regular TV." The stranger picked up a videotape box, eyeing the revealing
                        photo again. "You're sure she's not in that movie?"
             "See for yourself." The stranger rose to turn on the VCR, and the watcher
              remembered that the other tape was still loaded. He sprinted across the
             room--"I'll take care of it"--and practically knocked the stranger out of
              his seat. He hunched over the VCR to conceal the label of the tape as it
             came out. He had already pressed "eject" (found it easy enough this time)
                      before he realized--"I thought I unplugged this thing."
               The other tape was tucked away in preparation for a good hiding place.
            Under the blankets on the bed seemed passable, but his stride was broken by
             the rattle of plastic. Oh, no. Just as it was about to be swept under the
              bed, the stranger piped up. "What's that? Hey, it's not fair to keep the
               good stuff for yourself." A hand dashed out and snatched the tape. The
              stranger grinned as he read the title. He held up the tape. "This is the
                                  one you got by mistake, right?"
                       Does that mean he bought my story? "Yeah, that's it."
             "That other tape looks boring. If I can't see the woman on the cover, I'm
                           not interested. Let's watch this one instead."
             Before any protest could be lodged, tapes had been exchanged and the lewd
             screenplay resumed from where it was. The stranger poured himself another
              drink. Glancing to the squirming bodies on TV, then the watcher's eyes,
                      then the TV again, he said, "looks familiar." He paused.
                                       "Looks...interesting."
            The scene from the booth played again, with the watcher settled on the bed,
               and the stranger in his chair nearer the TV. The watcher felt a little
             self-conscious, but couldn't help but get wrapped up as before with these
             two men stroking and kissing each other. There was no quarter's worth now,
             and things advanced again to the point where the winner was collecting his
               spoils, and continued this time. The watcher's erection was stiff and
              moist, and seemed to be aided by the fact that he was no longer watching
               alone. He studied the stranger's face, and traced down the rest of his
             physique. The stranger would occasionally look back with a "look at that"
              or "how do they _do_ that" expression, forcing the watcher to avert his
                 eyes quickly. But he began to feel that he was being studied, too.
             The men on the screen had truly gotten down to business. They were locked
                 in a fearsome 69, with the winner on top pumping his cock into his
             adversary's mouth. His balls were being tickled by adept fingers, and the
            mix of saliva and jism left a glistening sheen on the shaft as it appeared,
             then disappeared again. The loser wasn't being neglected, either, because
             he was being sucked with abandon as well. The winner's technique was a mix
             of hands and mouth, and his poor subject apparently had all he could do to
              keep from blowing his load. From the bottom, muffled groans of pleasure
             could be heard as the cock was driven, again and again, into his mouth. If
            it stood still too long, he'd go after it, opening his jaws wide and taking
             his master deep, kicking off more pumping. The winner lifted his head and
            moaned, more frequently as the session went on, but always working with the
             hands, keeping his partner's nerve endings shouting with joy. Then, as he
            lifted his head again, the winner closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
              He growled low, and everything stopped. He took a few stuttered breaths.
             His partner began again, moving his head slowly up and down the length of
            the shaft, pausing teasingly at the right moments, licking playfully at the
              pre-cum soaked tip. He took the cock in his mouth again, excruciatingly
             slowly engulfing it from tip to base, then starting a rhythm again. First,
             slowly, then rising in tempo until his partner nearly shouted in pleasure
             as his cock was swallowed again and again. The loser squeezed his master's
              ass hard in time with the strokes, and traced between his buns to tickle
             his hole and balls. Finally, the great groan was heard, as the cock jumped
                out of the loser's mouth. It was immediately met with two hands--one
             tightly gripping and stroking the shaft, another vigorously massaging the
             taut scrotum--and there was cum. It came in great spurts, each one causing
                his back to arch. It seemed to go on forever as his partner giggled
                                              happily.
             The watcher's erection threatened to unbutton his pants for him. The scene
              drew to a close as the men kissed and cuddled on the screen, then faded
             out. An attempt at plot intervened as both members of the film's audience
                                         drew heavy sighs.
                 The stranger was first to stand. He stretched and arched backward,
             revealing that he had problems of his own. The outline of his swollen dick
             was clearly visible through his thin dress slacks; you could even discern
            the shape of the head. The watcher didn't know what made a cock "nice," but
                 this one, shrouded though it was, led him to some wild imaginings.
              It had been some time since the last drinks, and the stranger held up a
             drained bottle. "I can fix that," the watcher proclaimed as he headed for
               the bag in the closet. He bent over to pick it up and--zing!--his back
               spasmed again. "Whoa." The stranger rushed over. "What is it? Are you
                                               okay?"
                       "Yeah. I must've really messed up my back downstairs."
             "You go back and sit down. I'm mooching your liquor, so the least I can do
             is mix for you." He did, and shortly a full glass was placed in his hands.
              "You know, you probably didn't do any serious damage. I know how to fix
                                                it."
              The spasm had subsided, but this sounded interesting. "How would you do
                                               that?"
               "Lie down, face down, and I'll show you." The watcher pushed a pile of
             pillows aside and stretched out on the bed. Felt nice. The extra pressure
            against his cock brought an instinctive push into the bed. Mustn't do that.
              The stranger stood next to the bed. His hands were warm and strong, and
             worked the watcher's back and shoulders through the fabric. "Um, it works
             better," the stranger said, "if you lose _this_." He tugged at the shirt.
              The watcher turned face-up, grasped the cuff of his shirt and pulled it
             over his head. The stranger watched approvingly, then offered more advice.
              "Actually, if you want a _real_ massage, you have to dress down a little
               more. Then you won't have to get up again. Okay? Go change, and grab a
            towel from the bathroom. Wearing something that loose will help relax you."
                Relax? The watcher's heart was pounding as he stood in front of the
             bathroom mirror. "This is stupid, this is really stupid" he thought as he
              took off his pants. Standing in his briefs, his nervousness had lost him
             the erection he'd started hours ago. Now he had to decide how much more to
             lose. The briefs hit the floor, and a towel was tucked--_securely_--around
                                             his waist.
             He came out in his towel to find the bed had been rearranged. "Lie down,"
             he was instructed, "close your eyes and relax." The watcher obeyed, taking
                    a giant tug on the drink on the nightstand as he descended.
             The stranger knelt on the bed, and spoke again. "I found this," holding a
              bottle of baby oil close enough to see, "on your dresser. Okay if I use
             it?" The oil was there, well, for _personal_ use. Seemed appropriate now.
             A nod was offered in response, and the sounds which followed added to the
             suspense. The popping of the top, the squirting of the oil into the palms,
            the rubbing together of the hands to warm them. Then, first contact. Aahhh,
               wonderful. He was being worked on at the shoulders first, kneading the
             muscles and working between the shoulderblades firmly. There was just the
                                 right amount of oil--no dripping.
            The stranger's hands felt good as they worked their way down, fingering the
             muscles on either side of the spine, and pushing out to the sides. Nerves
              there were sensitive; when the hands reached around toward the front, it
             should have tickled. Instead, it sent a rush of warmth. The watcher lifted
                        his arms over his head to give the hands more room.
              Every response was noted, for when the hands would come upon some region
              that elicited a reaction, that region would be revisited repeatedly.

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 The
                        hands worked the sides of the watcher's torso a lot.
            The massage went on, deliciously, for a long time. Every muscle in his back
             and sides was manipulated, every nerve stimulated. When the lower back was
             reached, a nerve was struck--"yow!" "That needs work, but--don't take this
             the wrong way--the towel is in the way." About ready to melt into the bed,
              the watcher needed no encouragement. "It's history." But he was far too
              relaxed to move to take it off. The stranger offered his assistance, and
             unwrapped the towel from his host. He caught a brief but interesting view
             from behind as the watcher lifted himself to let the towel slide out. "One
              more thing," the stranger said. "I don't want to get oil all over these
                clothes. If you have a pair of pajamas..." He was still trying to be
                 polite. "I don't wear them, but there are still plenty of towels."
              "Thanks a lot." A few moments later, the towel-clad stranger returned to
               the bed. "Now, we're ready for a serious backrub." The stranger knelt
             again, and warmed the oil in his hands for another assault. It started at
               the shoulders again, just as before. Then, the stranger straddled the
              watcher, taking a seat on his ass. The towel prevented contact, and the
            watcher's shoulders were worked with such renewed vigor that he didn't mind
             at all. The entire back was worked again, down the the base of the spine.
            As he worked the tension there, the stranger made occasional circles of the
               watcher's buns, moving down a little further with each pass. This was
               wonderful, but the stranger seemed very tentative about it, still not
              wishing to offend. Only once or twice was there a full encircling of his
            ass. It felt so good, the watcher could have had his buns rubbed all night.
                After that, the stranger moved on to the tops of the legs, and again
             straddled his patient facing the other way. This time, the towel splayed,
              and the stranger's buns and balls were dropped squarely on the watcher's
             slippery ass. At first, the stranger rose with an "Oh!" and began to tuck
               the towel in. No delays, please, thought the watcher. "It's okay. Just
            don't stop." The stranger settled back down slowly, a little shaky, and the
              watcher felt the hair of his balls, and the tip of his soft cock, as he
              touched down. The stranger leaned forward to resume working on the legs,
              and couldn't help sliding around on the watcher's backside. Both parties
              enjoyed this but tried to keep it to themselves. But the watcher noticed
                          that the soft cock tip could no longer be felt.
            The stranger stayed put as he worked just above the knees, leaning forward.
               The stranger's towel fell against the watcher's oily body, and was set
              aside. Each time he leaned foreward, his balls pressed hard against his
             patient's buns. Both were now far past aroused. The watcher raised his ass
                slightly--_very_ slightly--to try to touch the stranger's cock. The
            stranger's ass then slid backwards onto the watcher's lower back; suddenly,
                the entire length of his cock was lodged in the watcher's split. The
                stranger didn't know quite what to do, but as his cock twitched and
               expanded, the body beneath him began to buck gently, drawing his cock
               deeper into the crack. Once there, the watcher began to tilt his hips,
              stroking the cock above him with the crack of his ass. The stranger was
             still kneeling facing the watcher's feet, and he wrapped his hands around
               one of the watcher's legs, rubbing his face against it has he began to
               pump. He reached up with his hand and pushed his cock deeper into the
             crevice, pressing the shaft against the hole and the tip against the base
                of the watcher's balls when he thrusted fully forward. The watcher's
             rocking hips grabbed the stranger's cock, and the stranger's hand pressed
                 harder to feel the outline of the watcher's hole. This was heaven.
              "Might you," came the breathless voice of the stranger, "roll over?" The
              stranger lifted himself off slowly, allowing his prick to trace over the
            watcher's ass. He couldn't resist dropping himself down again, grinding his
             hips deeply, and forcefully fucking the length of the watcher's split. He
                        rolled off, and the watcher brought himself face-up.
             The stranger straddled again, this time looking in the watcher's eyes, and
             applied a great amount of oil to the watcher's straining cock. He smiled,
              and slid forward until the base of the watcher's cock was firmly in his
             crack, and the glistening tip showed between his balls. The stranger oiled
               his hands again, and started rocking. He massaged the watcher's chest,
            circling the nipples and surrounding the neck with his hands. As he rocked,
                     the watcher pumped, holding tight to the stranger's arms.
             The stranger leaned backwards, putting his hands near the watcher's knees,
                to bring more of his ass to bear on the watcher's slippery cock. The
             stranger couldn't move much in this position, but the watcher happily did
                 all the work, thrusting himself up and down the split. The watcher
              moistened his palms with oil from his chest, and grasped the stranger's
             prick with both hands. The stranger's cock felt good, responding to every
             touch. He worked the stranger's shaft and balls deftly, both hands working
                while still grinding away at the stranger's ass. When a drop of jism
              appeared, the watcher had to have that cock in his mouth. He pulled the
              stranger onto his chest, held his cock firmly in one hand, and began to
             lick the tip. With each circling of his tongue, the stranger's hips pushed
             forward. He moved back, wanting to take things at his own speed. He licked
              his lips and placed them, slightly parted, on the tip of the stranger's
             cock. He drew it into his mouth slowly, surrounding it with his lips as it
              entered, and pressing his tongue against the underside of the shaft. The
             stranger began to pump, and his lover pushed forward to meet every thrust.
              Every few thrusts, the watcher experimented with taking the cock deeper,
             noticing that the deeper he went, the more response he got. After testing
            himself for a time, the watcher felt confident and swallowed the stranger's
            cock up to the base. The stranger stopped in full thrust, squeezing his ass
              tight and pushing as far forward as he could. The watcher held his cock
             deep for a long time, massaging the shaft with his tongue. He tickled the
             stranger's balls, pressing between them and working his thumb up and down
              the very base of his cock. The stranger drew a fast breath as his balls
             drew taut, and the watcher knew his lover was about to come. He wanted to
               watch and to feel it on his skin. He slowly withdrew the cock from his
                 throat, and began furiously sucking and tonguing the top inch. The
            stranger's moaning and breathing spun the watcher into a frenzy, and he did
                          everything he knew how to get his guest to come.
              The stranger was overwhelmed by the sensations emanating from his groin.
            The pleasure grew in circular waves, involving more and more of his nerves.
               Each move he made accentuated the feeling, and he fought to keep from
              coming; he didn't want this feeling to end. He felt the fluid rise from
              deep inside him, drawn out by the talented man sucking away at his cock.
                The tongue circled and darted and moved this way and that, the hand
              squeezed and stroked in cooperation, and another hand gently tickled the
              hair on his balls. Ripples moved through him as the tongue danced across
            the most sensitive regions of his cock. The waves centered somewhere behind
             his cock and reached out to every muscle, making each one shiver with joy
              as it absorbed another wave. He could feel his come surging inside him,
             rushing to escape. He fought it, enjoying the delicious torture of holding
              himself on the very edge, his cock fully engorged, the liquid pushing to
                 get out. He figured he could hold out for at least a while longer.
               The stranger's balls grew tauter still, and his eyes rolled back. The
                watcher fixed his eyes on the tip of his lover's cock and stroked it
            furiously. He slid a finger between his lover's legs, between his balls and
             hole, and pressed and stroked the skin there. The stranger bucked, and the
             first hot jet spurted out and struck his lover on the chin. The second was
                a moment or two in coming, but was even stronger than the first. The
             watcher's fingers were busily massaging away, drawing the liquid from deep
              inside. After two long, powerful jets, the stranger's cock began pulsing
              more rapidly, pushing out more and more come. White rivers ran from the
             stranger's pulsing purple head, down his cock, flowing over the hands and
               spilling onto the chest of his lover. The orgasm continued as fingers
              seemed to find every reserve and empty it. The pulsing subsided, leaving
                         the watcher's chest and neck splattered with come.
              The watcher caressed the legs of his lover, and played in the coating of
                                         come on his chest.
                                                  
                The stranger took some time to recover. He sat there, breathing and
                               swallowing hard, for the longest time.
               It was long enough that the watcher became concerned. "Are you okay?"
             The stranger shifted his gaze from the ceiling to the watcher's face. His
             hair was matted, and beads of sweat stood as though painted onto his face
             and body. What a sight. "Yeah." The stranger was seriously out of breath.
                 "Just need to catch my breath." He paused, drawing deep the musky
              atmosphere they had created in the room. He moved from his lover's chest
              and headed, still panting, toward the bathroom. The towel he pitched was
            gratefully received, and put to work sopping up the sweat and various other
                         fluids. He spoke as the watcher walked toward him.
             "Never did it with another guy before. I don't know what got into me." The
            stranger stared at himself in the mirror, drinking water from cupped hands.
                      "I don't even want to know how many risks I just took."
            The watcher wanted to be angry, but he could see the fear in the stranger's
              face. "It's not like that. I...I had no idea this would happen. Look, I
               don't go to bed with strangers, either. Strange men. Or women. Men or
            women...I don't...You came into my room, I _still_ don't know who you are--
                                _I_ should be the one who's scared."
            "I'm sorry--I overreacted. I thought maybe you were one of those guys who'd
            fuck anything that moved. But, this was, like, a big surprise to you, too?"
              "Yeah. Nothing like this ever happens to me. I mean, I never took a risk
              before, tried something new. I just watched others indulge their hunger.
               Fascinating to me that they had the nerve. There's so much inside that
             says, "be good," and until tonight, I always let that voice prevail. Until
             tonight." The watcher looked down. "This is the first time I _did_ instead
             of watched. The first time I was involved in my own fantasy. I got so used
              to jerking off to someone else's script that I just took for granted I'd
                    never experience anything that hot, that real, for myself."
                                    "Well, then...it was good?"
               "Good? Shit, are you kidding? Mister, I'll never have to rent another
               movie. I can just play back my memories of tonight. It was incredible;
                                            thank you."
             The stranger's ego was rising, but it wasn't alone. In the bright light of
               the bathroom, they could see each other very clearly. The watcher was
              hunched close to the mirror, trying to get his friend's load out of his
             hair. The stranger appreciated the view, fixing his eyes on the watcher's
             ass. The watcher finished cleaning up, but felt the eyes on him. He stayed
               in that position, and even stood on his toes and leaned closer to the
                                  mirror. "Nasty boy," he thought.
              The faucet handles squeaked as they turned, and soon the shower's steam
              began filling the room. The stranger disappeared into the stall, sliding
                  the door shut. The watcher wanted to join, but hesitated. Their
              conversation left him feeling a little unsure. Then the door slid open,
                      just a bit, and a hand appeared, motioning "come here."
              The watcher stepped into the shower, to be greeted by the stranger's ass
            pointed right at him. The stranger stood and turned, with soap in one hand,
             a washcloth in another, and obviously fully recovered from their previous
                      romp. There were no words, just a motion to turn around.
            The soap needed help lathering in the thick coating of oil on the watcher's
                back. The washcloth found its way to skin after some effort, and the
              stranger stepped aside to give a rinse. He watched the soap cascade down
             his friend's back and ride down between his cheeks. They both closed their
               eyes for a moment, imagining what fate might await them in this steamy
                                               haven.
             The watcher spun round to get the other side tended to. His neck and chest
             were washed with vigor, a rich, slippery foam left standing. The stranger
             arched his eyebrows for a moment, grinned, and began moving southward with
            the soap. The washcloth was set aside, as was the soap after the palms were
                                        sufficiently coated.
             The watcher hadn't gotten off on the bed. He enjoyed his friend's ecstacy
              so much that it didn't matter, but now that things seemed to be starting
            again, he rolled his eyes back and prepared to soak up every sensation. The
             hands slid around his groin first, barely touching his hair. They swirled
            around his legs, playing up the suspense. His cock was twitching, pleading,
              giving out with the jism built up from their previous encounter. A hand
             cupped his balls from underneath as another took hold of his cock. It felt
               so good his knees nearly gave out. The stranger watched intently as he
                      stroked his partner slowly, balls rolling in his hands.
            The stranger moved closer, his own cock just a few inches away. The watcher
               reached out to touch it--the stranger motioned "no, no." The stranger
               reached between his partner's legs, bending down to reach his slippery
             hands up, past the balls, over the sensitive patch, to his friend's hole.
            He played there for only a moment, then slid his hands from where they were
             to a firm grip on the watcher's ass. He pulled, and they slapped together,
             their cocks standing hard, side by side. They held each other tightly, the
                spray bouncing off the stranger's back, hands everywhere. They began
            rocking their hips, rubbing against each other, feeling their nipples slide
             across the coarse chest hair, feeling each other's smooth pricks fuck the
                                      tiny space between them.
              The watcher coated his hands with soap, and backed away a little bit. He
              took his own cock in hand and began to stroke, pumping into it with his
               hips. Just when the stranger thought he was in for a show, the watcher
               bound their cocks together in one hand. The stranger titled his head a
             little--what is this guy up to?--but soon had something else on his mind.
            The watcher rolled his hand, sliding the fronts of their cocks against each
            other, adding vertical motion with his hips. He kneaded as he gripped their
                    cocks tightly, and circled the swollen tips with his thumb.
              The pleasure produced by this was so constant that both men were dazed,
              grunting softly and fucking the watcher's hand. The watcher's other hand
              found its way to his lover's balls, and again he sought out that region
            that had brought forth the soaking he got earlier. The stranger retaliated,
              reaching around and massaging the watcher's ass. He massaged, then bent
              over a little for better position, soaped up one hand, and began working
             deeply into his lover's crack. He felt the buns squeeze together with each
               humping stroke, and rubbed up and down in preparation for his attack.
              Nothing had slowed. The watcher continued to knead their straining cocks
             together, but was a little distracted by all that activity going on around
              back. He felt little rushes each time the fingers crossed over his hole,
             and he'd push instinctively. They had a fine rhythm going. A finger placed
               itself directly over his opening, and began to wiggle, and push gently
            inward. The watcher's heart raced--this new sensation was intoxicating--and
                tilted to offer a better angle. The finger vibrated and pushed more
               insistently, and finally broke through. The pressure in his cock rose
             substiantially. He stood on his toes and rotated his ass on the finger. It
            went deeper, slowly, stroking the distance each time. The friction made his
              groin muscles quiver, and his cock skin stretched tighter. The stranger
             could feel his lover pulsing and straining against him. He stepped aside,
               letting the shower spray wash away the soap, and dropped to his knees.
            Leaving his finger in place, he surrounded the watcher's cock head with his
            lips. He felt the smooth skin against his tongue, the head pressing against
              the back of his mouth. He layed his tongue flat on the underside of the
                           captive prick, and launched his final assault.
             He let his finger stand still for a while as he slowly started gliding his
               tongue, front to back, side to side, on the underside of the watcher's
            cock. He felt the body tremble in his hands, and let the tempo rise slowly,
                licking faster, pressing harder. He bobbed his head, and the watcher
             accepted the invitation to start thrusting into his mouth. He searched for
             the seam between the shaft and head, and worked it with the full width of
               his tongue. The head grew bigger, the skin tighter, and he knew it was
              time. He began vibrating his finger in its channel, short, fast strokes.
            His lover's knees buckled and the cock came out of his mouth. He gripped it
             with his free hand and milked it, still rapidly stroking the finger in the
              watcher's ass. He pushed downward on his finger and concentrated on the
               wall just inside his lover's opening, rubbing hard with the tip of his
                           finger. He put the watcher back in his mouth.
            The watcher's senses were overloaded. The tongue on his cock was working in
               the same areas he used to bring himself off--how did he know?--but the
              feeling of a finger in his ass was incredible. Each stroke sent pleasure
             streaming from his hole, through a channel to the base of his balls, into
             them, then up his cock to the head, where a tongue was working furiously.
             Each wave would subside, then another would come crashing in. The path was
              so plain he could follow it down, and the nerves in each region gave out
             with a different flavor of pleasure. Then there was a squeeze, a hard one,
             on his shaft, and his balls pulled tight. The stroking in his ass brought
              fluid surging through his pipes in a rhythm. His ass pulled tight around
             the finger. He fought it, allowing only a dribble to escape, but then the
             stranger took him deep, and rammed the vibrating finger its full distance.
             Valves opened involuntarily, and he gushed into the stranger's mouth. The
               tongue stopped moving for an instant--surprise!--but then resumed. The
            nerves on his head were dancing as the stranger sucked hard and gripped his
               squirting cock firmly. He thought he might pass out as the finger and
            tongue coaxed load after load from his balls. The tongue slowed, the finger
            was withdrawn, and his vision began to return. The stranger reared his head
             back to wash the come from his face, and smiled. That had to have been the
                warmest smile the watcher had ever seen, he thought, but remembered
              experiencing it before: It was exactly like the one he gave the stranger
                                  after pleasuring him on the bed.
               Hugs were exchanged, and soap was again applied, but for cleaning this
              time. The stranger caught a glimpse of the clock as he stepped from the
               shower, and apologized to his host. An early-morning meeting meant he
            needed some sleep that night. "Damn," thought the watcher, who was counting
              on an opportunity to get even. The stranger dressed, hugged the watcher
                                   again, thanked him, and left.
            The watcher climbed into bed, reveling in the musky smells, and propped his
               hands behind his head. His cock tingled against the cool sheet, and he
             stared at the ceiling, remembering. That was the best night of sex in his
              life, but it was more than that. He felt he had connected with the man,
             more than sexually, forming an instant friendship that was deeper than any
                      he'd known until now. There had to be something to that.
              But wait--he didn't leave his number. He said he was at the Holiday Inn,
                but I don't even know his name. Maybe I'm the only one who felt that
                      connection. Maybe I'm alone in wanting to see him again.
            Well, shit, mister. What did you expect? Besides, the sex _was_ incredible,
                                 can't you be satisfied with that?
             He couldn't. He felt strangely alone, almost abandoned. He had shared his
             body with this man, but, without knowing it, came to care for him. And, by
                               all appearances, he was alone in that.
                 Sleep didn't come easily that night. The watcher tortured himself,
               imagining that he'd never see the stranger again, never know his name,
               never know whether he was married, or liked Christmas, or thought the
                Persian Gulf was justified. They made love, but they never _talked_.
            The watcher buried himself in the conferences and BOFS, daydreaming through
               his tutorials. The tapes and VCR went back, the remaining liquor went
                   untouched, and he spent nights watching inane TV in his room.
              Wednesday's party was something he normally never missed, but he didn't
            feel like it tonight. But a couple of friends who arrived Wednesday morning
               left a message at the desk that they'd meet him in the bar before the
              party. He felt like a robot as he dressed and made his way to the lobby.
              His friends greeted him boisterously, and had a drink waiting for him at
                                              the bar.
             "Look at all these people," friend #1 piped up. "Wall-to-wall nerds." His
             friends--maybe acquaintances--had cushy government jobs and looked down on
              the students and other less-affluent types that attended this show. "The
            nerds don't bug me," offered friend #2, who showed signs of having an early
              start on the evening's drinking. "It's the fucking queers. You can spot
            'em, even the ones who aren't wearing the stupid T-shirts. I'm telling you,
              you suck one dick, and everything changes. You can tell from looking at
                             faggot that he fucks guys. Makes me sick."
              The watcher stirred his drink, lost in thought. This guy doesn't have a
              clue. I should tell him. I should blow this asshole's mind and tell him
               everything I did on Friday night. Every gory detail, down to the last
                                    squirt. I wonder if he'd...
              "Hey, Larry!" The watcher knocked his glass over as he turned toward the
             voice. There stood the stranger, in his Sunday fines, his eyes gleaming at
              the sight of his friend. He came over to the bar and shook the watcher's
             hand with vigor. "My business called me back to California for a couple of
                days, but I couldn't miss the party." One corner of his mouth smiled
            shakily, and his eyes grew misty. "I missed you, buddy." They shook hands--
             with both hands--again, holding the grip for more than a cordial handshake
                                              demands.
             The friends were busy playing "lookit the fags" and reassuring each other
              about their heterosexuality. "I could never..." "Oh, no way, me neither"
              "That guy over there--the one with the hair--I bet he..." "Oh, yeah, no
                                 shit. Ewww. Grosses me out, man."
             The watcher and stranger listened to this banter for a while, then winked
                at each other and left the bar. The stranger put his arm around the
             watcher's waist. They looked at each other, and the watcher knew they'd be
             spending more time together. "Do you like Christmas?" the watcher asked as
                          he slipped his arm around the stranger's waist.
             Friend #2 came running up and grabbed the watcher by the shoulder. He took
               a gulp from his drink and said "You shouldn't walk around like that. I
             mean, I know you guys are just good friends who haven't seen each other in
               a while, but other people here will think...well, they'll think you're
                    queer. There's a lot of them here, you know. Makes me sick."
             "Yep," said the watcher, squeezing the stranger's waist tighter. "But you
                              can't really spot them just by looking."
               "Bullshit. I've been doing it for years, man. It's easy. I've got this
                                    system, see, I look for..."
             "Well, your system sucks, because you missed two right before your eyes."
                       Friend #2 looked around, challenged. "Where? Where??"
             The watcher and stranger walked away, and the stranger tucked his hand in
            the watcher's pocket. They agreed, as they left, that they hoped that drink
                          didn't spill on anyone on its way to the floor.
                             to More Bi-Sexual Sex Stories 
                                                  

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