After Poer

Mike clung to the arm of Larry, the older man he'd met just earlier in the day but who was everything to Mike at the moment, as, one of six men concentrating on their cards, a pall of smoke hovering over the table, Mike won another hand of poker. He hadn't even played much poker before now. And he'd never been in a place like this before now, either.

The poker table was in the corner of a smoky, boisterous barroom with a small stage, where a young black man in a puffy-haired black wig, sparkly red bra, and gold lamé G-string was dancing a pole to music being piped in from somewhere and men were shuffle dancing with other men—and kissing and fondling each other.

Mike had been curious and he admitted readily to himself that he'd taken to the beach in the morning in a micobikini to test out the possibilities, but he'd never been where he was now. And he'd done what he'd done that afternoon for the first time. He almost connected winning at poker at this table with an affirmation of a new lifestyle. If he wasn't so sore, he'd be giddy. And if the man on the other side of him, a tall, muscular man in cowboy boots and shirt who'd said to call him Tex didn't keep pushing the toe of his cowboy boot up the hem of Mike's trousers and rubbing Mike's ankle under the table. It wasn't that Mike was disgusted about that; it was more that it aroused him and worried him about whether he was going to be promiscuous now that he'd crossed through the beaded curtain. It made him snuggle closer to Larry.

Ashamedly, that made Mike think of big cocks. The cowboy obviously had one, as could be told by the faded denim of the area stretched over his cock that Mike had spied as the poker players settled at the table. Mike knew it was vacuous to obsess on big cocks, but he always had. He'd just never been in a situation before where anything could come of the obsession.

Larry, although not totally ignoring Mike, was sending most of his attention across the table to another older guy, probably in his late thirties, named Clinton, who was in a wheelchair and who had a twenty-something thin, almost effeminate and androgynous attendant flitting around in back of him. Clinton kept giving Larry looks that raised a sense of trespass on Mike, a sensation he couldn't figure out the source for.

But then he could. Larry had come to the beach that morning and settled his towel next to Mike. Although older, Larry was strikingly good looking and in great shape, and Mike was intrigued by the pattern of hair on the man's chest and trailing down to the waistband of his bathing suit, setting off fantasies in Mike's mind of where the hair went from there. Mike had come to Florida and onto the beach to build up the courage to hook up. He'd never done it before, and it had become an obsession that he'd never done it. Larry's bathing suit was a tight one, and as they talked, Mike could see that Larry increasingly was aroused. So was he, and he couldn't hide it.

"See that house over there?" Larry had said. "The three-story one with the red tile roof."

Mike did see it. Quite a mansion.

"That's mine. Would you like a tour?"

"Sure, that would be great."

"My bedroom is especially nice," Larry had said. "I'd like to fuck you. I'd be willing to pay. Say $100? You probably were hoping for a younger guy, weren't you? But I have experience a younger guy wouldn't have. And a younger guy isn't going to pay you for it."

Now that it was here, Mike was scared. He babbled out that he'd never done it before.

"$200 then," Larry had said, smiling and nearly licking his lips. "You came to the beach for this today, didn't you? I can tell from your behavior on the beach. I watched you for a while from my house before coming down here. You came here for a hookup, didn't you? You've decided you want to try it out, haven't you? I'll make it so that you'll want it again."

Mike couldn't say that Larry was wrong about why he'd come to the beach—why he'd come in a bathing suit that hid practically nothing, and why he'd walked the surf line, exhibiting himself.

In the master bedroom of Larry's beach house, Larry had taken it slow. Sensually, lying on top of Mike, front to front, kissing Mike and moving his pelvis, causing his dick to drag against Mike's belly and rub against Mike's dick. Mike had come then. He apologized in embarrassment, but Larry had just laughed, saying it was proof to him that Mike was a virgin and excited him even more.

"You're young and virile—a beautiful body. You'll be able to come again when I'm ready to take it from you."

Larry moved down Mike's body, kissing and nipping on the way, as Mike moaned and trembled. For the first time another man had his mouth on Mike's cock and then his balls and then, for several minutes, lapping at his asshole, enticing his channel to open up. Mike came again while Larry was deep-throating his cock and moving fingers in and out of Mike's channel. Then, reversed and hovering over him, Mike received his first taste of a man's cock, gagging, but eager to experience and learn now that he actually was doing it.

The pain of the first penetration, Mike on his back at the foot of the bed, and Larry crouched over him, holding Mike's legs spread and raised, was initially almost unbearable. But Larry took this slow too, wedging the bulb of his cock just inside the entrance until Mike calmed down and opened to the inch-by-inch invasion, huffing and panting all the time, while Larry gave him words of encouragement, of how nice Mike's body was, and of gratefulness for letting Larry be first. When Larry had pulled Mike's legs in, fully bent against Larry's chest, as Larry covered Mike close from above and took the younger man's lips in his and simply rocked back and forth on top of Mike, sending his cock rubbing across Mike's prostate, Mike was sighing and in seventh heaven.

"Can you take more?" Larry murmured.

"Yes, fuck me, daddy, fuck me hard," Mike whimpered. These were words he'd practiced for this occasion, taken from all the porn movies he'd watched. He was here, he already was undone. It wasn't a time to be shy. Everyone had told him that the pleasure would increasingly overshadow the pain each time he took a cock.

Larry rose again, hooked Mike's legs around his waist, and pushed his cock in deep. Once Larry's cock was buried and his pumping attained a slow rhythm, Mike's awe and relief that it was done—that a man's cock had bottomed in him and he'd taken it—took over and he let the pleasure of it sweep over him. As he pumped the young man's channel, Larry was pumping Mike's cock with a fist as well, and Mike came again, up his belly. He just lay back then as Larry moved on, pumping faster and deeper, to his own ejaculation.

They had been right. There was less pain in the pleasure each successive time. Of course Mike had only known the one cock as yet, but he wasn't thinking at the moment of there being bigger cocks. He'd certainly thought about that when Larry stood before him naked, though. He'd initially been disappointed the cock wasn't bigger, even in full erection. He just didn't know then how talented Larry was in wielding it.

When Larry invited Mike to stay with him and go out with him that evening, Mike was pleased at the thought that he must have performed for the first time well enough. It was well enough that, in the sultry high hours of the afternoon, with the windows open to the beach and the sea and a ceiling fan wonk-wonking overhead, Larry coaxed Mike up on all fours on the bed, mounted him, and fucked him harder and faster than he had the first time. This time was more possessing, but it still was sensual, and Larry was all attention to Mike's needs and level of pleasure-pain—and applied massive amounts of lube.

Larry wanted to take the chance of barebacking a claimed virgin, though, so condoms weren't mentioned. Mike was too dumb on the subject to bring that topic up.

For the first time, Mike was being well taken care of. Larry was older than the men Mike had imagined he'd go with, but, with age, had come experience and the willingness to treat a virgin right.

Now, at the poker game, as the chips mounted up in front of Mike, Mike was obsessed with wondering who Larry would be taking home—or going home with. Mike was of two minds about continuing with Larry. He'd come to Florida and out on the beach today to rid himself of his male-male virginity, which he had. He wasn't all that excited with falling immediately into a relationship, especially with an older, rich man who was dominating. Mike was on a post-high school fling. He didn't plan on staying in Florida.

Larry's body was good, but Mike had seen men in the gym showers; he knew that Larry didn't have a cock to be especially proud of, and Mike's obsessions had all been for big cocks. He fully appreciated that a smaller cock was a good beginning, though.

He wanted a bigger cock—a much bigger cock—before going home, however.

He couldn't help looking to the other side at the Texan . . . at his lap below the glass-topped table. Now that was a huge bulge, made prominent by the area being more faded than the denim around it—evidence that the Texan rubbed himself there frequently. It was an image that Mike found arousing—he suffered the urge to be in a position to rub the guy's basket himself. The Texan gave him a wink and lifted his boot heel to Mike's crotch. Shuddering—not entirely unpleasantly—Mike moved in closer to Larry's side. But he also spread his legs and moved a hand under the top of the table to hold the Texan's pressuring boot heel to his crotch.

The other two men—in their late twenties—at the table obviously were a couple. They only had eyes for each other and they had their hands all over each other. Much of Mike's winnings at the table probably came from their inattention to the game. Both hunky blonds, they looked like they'd just come off the surfing beach. They did, though, both look close to aging out of that scene. They had identified themselves as Frank, the taller and more muscular and evident dominator of the pair, and Rich. Mike looked at them with pleasure—not just because they were both handsome and well-built all-American athlete types but also because they obviously were a satisfied couple. They gave Mike hope that he would fall into something like that in a decade—with someone of his own age. At least that's what he had always thought. Being initiated this afternoon by a rich, older man had also been arousing. This big Texan on the other side of him, the one with the big bulge in his crotch, was arousing too. Being aroused by so many possibilities was disturbing.

It was especially disturbing when the Texan, moving back to the table after getting another beer, put his mouth close to Mike's ear in passing when Larry was exchanging words with the guy in the wheelchair across the table, Clinton, and whispered, "If you can break away from the old guy afterward, go with me. I can show you a good time."

Mike blanched and then blushed. He gave no answer; he just pulled closer into Larry's side. But he felt himself go harder. The Texan felt it too, because he'd paused beside Mike, put his hand on Mike's crotch, squeezed the hardened tube he could feel inside, and gave a little laugh. He muttered, "You want me, yes you do. I can fuck you so you know you've been fucked."

With a trembling hand, Mike moved the Texan's hand away, and he concentrated on the short conversation between Larry and Clinton. A hunky, topless Hispanic waiter, wearing suspendered tight pants pushing a bulge at his crotch forward, was moving around behind those seated at the table, swapping out empty beer mugs for full ones, and Clinton's attendant was behind Clinton and rubbing his shoulders. The waiter paused behind Mike and put his hand on Mike's shoulder, which caused Mike to flinch, because he'd been looking at the attendant massaging Clinton's shoulders and thinking thoughts of Clinton being massaged elsewhere by the flighty attendant, who was more beautiful than handsome. The waiter leaned down and whispered in his ear, "You're a real cutie. The man you're with is too old for you. If you want a real man, look me up later."

What a wild, wooly new world this was for Mike.

To prevent the waiter from getting a false impression of the touch, Mike looked up and smiled at him. The waiter squeezed his shoulder and smiled back, but then he carried on with his waiter duties, making sure that he bumped Mike's arm with a bulbous butt cheek as he moved on.

Mike was beginning to hyperventilate. He was only eighteen, entirely out of his environment and depth, and had had his virginity fucked out of him just that afternoon. Still, he felt like a moth circling the flame. He had no interest in leaving the scent of musk and looks of lust surrounding him. If he'd been looking for a new lifestyle, he'd found it in spades.

In a louder voice than was necessary, Clinton was saying, "Then you are just five houses down from me on Beach Road." Mike assumed he was talking to Larry. "We'll have to get together for a barbecue . . . or something . . . one of these days. Time to go home now, though. Brad has the night off after he tucks me in. With my condition I stay on the first floor, so my bedroom is right off the patio to the ocean front. Love the sea breezes, so I keep the French doors open to the patio. I'll be alone all night."

Mike doubted he had any more trouble deciphering that invitation than Larry did. He wondered if Larry would bite. But he found he didn't care. He wasn't really up for more sex with Larry tonight or with becoming one of Larry's possessions before Mike had time to try out his new lifestyle with others.

If he was interested in more sex, which was more appealing to him in theory than actuality, he'd like to try out the Texan or the waiter.

Having plopped back in his chair across the table, the Texan had raised the heel of his boot back up between Mike's thighs and was grinding it into Mike's crotch.

"I'm in too," Larry was saying, as he stood up and started to leave. "You need a ride anywhere?" he turned to Mike and said.

That was a pretty obvious signal too, Mike knew. Their hookup was over. "Naw, I need to the walk. I'm not going far."

"Be careful walking alone, then," Larry said, smiling to show he wasn't all that serious. "You were the big winner tonight. You might be able to buy a car with that, if you don't get mugged."

"I'm in as well," the Texan said, as he stood up and up and up from the table. He had to be at least six six, Mike thought. And standing, his crotch was at Mike's eye level. And the bulge was bigger than ever—and obviously hard. This guy has got to be horse hung, Mike thought, and hard—hard for me. And he felt embarrassed again to be thinking of that.

"I'll walk you to wherever you're going," the Texan said, turning a smile on Mike.

"Uh, thanks. I can manage it alone," Mike answered. Now that it was an actual offer—and he knew the Texan wasn't just talking about walking him anywhere—that bulge in the Texan's jeans was scaring him.

Everyone was moving away from the table now. Even the Siamese twins, Frank and Rich, were standing up from the table, but, surprise surprise, they were moving in different directions, Frank toward the stage, where the young black transvestite was showing admirable flexibility on the pole, and Rich toward the long bar, running all the way down one side of the room.

"Gotta take a piss," the Texan said. "Anyone else want to go back with me?" He was giving Mike a meaningful look.

Mike indeed needed to piss, but there was no way that he was going to go into the back rooms area of a gay bar with the Texan. He realized that there was a gap between what he dreamed of and what he, in reality, was ready for.

* * * *

Mike walked north on Beach Street and turned west on 8th, headed into the darker and seedier part of town. He was staying in what almost was a flop house. It was all he could afford. This was a trip to the beach just for himself, coming out of high school. His parents hadn't approved, but they'd said nothing when he insisted he needed to do this, although of course he hadn't told them what exactly he thought he needed to accomplish on the trip. He was eighteen, his own man now. They were just pleased that he'd stuck with the academics and not completely obsessed himself with soccer. They couldn't deny that that obsession had gotten him a scholarship to college, though.

He hadn't realized how dark it could be at night a few blocks off Beach Road. He was apprehensive and a bit keyed up. He'd never drunk as much beer as he did tonight. But then he'd never been fucked before as he was that afternoon. Yes, a few mutual hand jobs and beating off together with a vid running. Even only slightly veiled offers from his soccer coach, who flashed him with a big cock occasionally. But never all the way, and it didn't really count, he didn't think, that, after the hints and flashing from his coach, he had to go off and beat himself off.

Of course now he was eighteen, no longer in high school, no longer a player for the soccer coach, and initiated.

The actual fucking with Larry had been better than he had imagined, and he knew this was a lifestyle for him from now on. He'd probably even go back in and visit his soccer coach after this trip and let the coach do to him what he wanted to do. The coach was cut and he was hung. Mike knew that from the showers and the flashings. He had to admit that he was thinking of his coach off and on while Larry was fucking him. Larry was experienced. But he wasn't hung.

If Larry had been hung like the soccer coach was, maybe Mike would have felt he'd done enough. But he wasn't.

As he walked, Mike's mind wandered to going into the high school gym after hours and finding only the soccer coach there, coming, naked, out of the showers, his manhood hanging low, but rising as he sees Mike standing there, also naked. Mike on his back on a massage table, the ankle of one leg hooked on the coach's shoulder and the coach holding the other, as he forces that big cock inside Mike's channel and Mike arching his back and panting hard. The feeling like Larry gave him in penetration, but taxing his walls to open to it more, digging deeper, more possessive in the stroking, more one with the soccer coach in the rhythm of the fuck, much, much more . . .

Were those footsteps behind him? Mike turned onto Main and then zagged onto 9th. The footsteps were still there.

"Dark out here, isn't it? Bet you are thinking now that you'd like to have someone walking with you."

The tall, muscular Texan, Tex. Mike murmured something as the Texan came up beside him, but even he didn't know what he was saying. He began to hyperventilate, though, as the Texan put a strong arm around him and virtually propelled him down the walk . . . and then into an alley.

The Texan grabbed Mike's crotch, and laughed, no doubt thinking Mike's hardness was for him rather than in fantasizing about the soccer coach. But then as the Texan rubbed Mike's crotch hard, and Mike shuddered, thinking of the Texan's boot grinding his crotch back at the poker table and Tex's whisper of the good time he could show Mike, and the image of the man's hard cock pushing against the faded material of his jeans, the hardness did turn to being for him.

"Hard for Mr. Big, ain't you," the Texan muttered.

Mike's answer was lost in a moan.

Tex pushed Mike up against a cinderblock wall in an alley so dark, that the darkness out on the street now seemed to be light. He had his hands all over Mike and was pulling Mike's T-shirt over his head. The Texan already had his cowboy shirt unbuttoned and pulled out of his jeans. His chest was massive, his nipples taut in prominent, dark aureoles.

"You want me. We both know that," he growled. "Teasing me at the table like that. Once you'd held the heel of my boot to your crotch, the deal was set. You're a saucy little piece."