Ey Westing

It was snowing in Washington, D.C., and after battling skidding cars on the Beltway for an extra two hours trying to get into work, I suddenly decided that it was time for me to head someplace sunny. It was my lucky day after all, because when I hit the office, everyone was in an uproar about reports from Havana that Cuban dictator Fidel Castro once more was on his deathbed. Bad news for Fidel and great news for me. I was a Caribbean and Spanish language specialist and, within hours, I was flying off to our little unit on Key West, the last of a chain of islands dribbling down from Florida toward Cuba.

I was able to hold on to my "put-upon" stoic face in negotiations with my employers over the short-notice, unknown duration assignment to negotiate four days of expenses-paid vacation time on top of the news media death watch on Castro no matter how long it lasted. Time away from snow-clogged Washington at the gay capital, warm, and sunny-beached Key West. How could I have been so lucky? And to add to that, when I called my significant other, Brian, he jumped at the chance to join me on the trip. So, I slogged back to our apartment, and we threw our skimpy Speedos into a suitcase, and we were off.

If I thought it was going to be a few hours during the day monitoring the Cuban media and then afternoons on the beach and nights in bed with Brian, making wild love, I was shortly to be disabused of that dream. No sooner had we checked into the gay-friendly Atlantic Shores Resorts, within steps of the naval air station that hosted the unit where I was to work, then I was off to work and Brian was off to the Duval Street bars. For two days, I was chained to radio and television receivers for double shifts and returned to the hotel room only long enough to catch a few hours of sleep—alone, because Brian wasn't there either of those days. He obviously had found the Key West night life much to his liking.

The third morning, I was hurrying out to work as Brian was just dragging in, all disheveled, but with a sloppy grin on his face. I knew that expression; he'd been fucked hard and well.

"Hi there, Estaban," he said with a weak wave of his hand as he headed for the bed I'd just vacated.

"How nice of you to put in an appearance, Brian," I said, all of the frost of the distant Washington in my voice.

"Ah, man," Brian said, as he settled into the bed. "You oughta get some time off and go bar hopping with me. This place is a candy store of male pussy and hot cocks."

"I can see that," I said, my voice dripping icicles. "Your eyeballs are swimming in semen. I do so hope you continue to enjoy your stay on my nickel as I work my ass off to earn that nickel."

"Geez, Estaban. It's not my fault they've tied you to the job. When Fidel has kicked off, we can party straight for days. I'm just checking out the best places to do that."

"Well, if you didn't check them out so enthusiastically, maybe you'd be home in bed waiting for me one of these nights and we could at least do what we were doing in Washington. I didn't come to Key West to stop having sex, you know."

But Brian didn't have any response to this. Not because he wasn't capable of snappy banter but because he was already snoring away in the bed.

That night when I dragged back to the room, the lights were off and I assumed that Brian once more was out all night at the bars. But when I opened the door and the light from the hallway dimly outlined the bed, I saw something stirring there. So, at least he was home. But he probably was in a drunken sleep and would be no good to me tonight. And I badly needed some stroking tonight.

But before I could get the door closed behind me and turn on the light, I saw a torso rise up in the bed—and it wasn't Brian's. It was some heavily muscled and tattooed dude, whose naked butt was undulating up and down against another naked body stretched out underneath him, belly to bed. I recognized Brian's cries and grunts and groans of passion. The guy on top turned his torso briefly toward me, checking out where the light from the open door was coming from, and I caught the gleam of eyebrow, ear, nipple, and navel piercings in the reflected light. He saw me, but he said nothing and just swiveled back around and pumped his cock down in long strokes between the ass cheeks encased between his knees. So, at least Brian was home, but he was a little busy now—being fucked by some leather man he'd picked up in a bar.

I shut the door and just sort of collapsed in a chair by the window, listening to Brian's panting and moaning and cries of ecstasy at the stroking he was receiving.

I was so exhausted from the monotonous Castro death watch, during which Cuban media wasn't broadcasting anything even half way of interest to the U.S. government, that I dozed off while sitting in the chair. The first thing I became aware of were two hands gripping the sides of my head, and Brian's visitor leaning down into me and giving me a deep, probing kiss. I discovered that he had a tongue stud along with his other body jewelry, and he was searching the tender inner linings of my cheeks with that. He sat down on my thighs, his legs encasing mine. He unbuttoned and spread my shirt open, and I felt the cold metal of his nipple rings as his chest rubbed against mine. His engorged, moist cock was pushing into my belly, and I discovered he had jewelry there too, a heavy Prince Albert cock ring pierced his mushroom cap.

I had never fucked on the wild side before, and a little thrill of a chill went through my body at these new sensations of touch. Tired and half dopey as I was, I took a bulbous butt cheek in each of my hands and pulled the leather stud into me, inviting him to make love to me.

And make love to me he did. He swayed in my lap, rubbing his torso against mine. I heard the unzipping of my pants, and he pushed the rim of my briefs under my balls and docked our cocks together. Neither of our dicks was something to sneeze at, although his was thicker than mine.

Then his knees were up on the arms of the chair and he was rubbing his cock, with the heavily metal ring, against my nipples. He pulled my shirt up and off my back and threw it aside, and then he was slapping his dick on my chest and into my arm pits—and then on my cheeks and forcing it between my lips. His Prince Albert punished my tongue and the roof of my mouth as he forced himself farther into me. He was so big and insistent that I could hardly keep from gagging, but I managed to deep throat him, and he was moaning his approval.

I felt a soft mouth come down over my own cock, a familiar mouth, and I knew that Brian had brought his head in under the leather stud's butt and had joined the party.

I assumed I would get the leather guy off in this position and Brian would get me off, which was not an unpleasant prospect, but I was wrong in that. The leather guy pulled his hard cock out of my throat, stood up from the chair, and pulled Brian back up on his feet. He had Brian roll a condom on his cock and then the two of them pulled me up from the chair and carried me over to the bed and forced me down on my belly. Brian came at me from above me, pushing his knees and thighs under my chest, and taking my head in his hands and forcing his cock into my mouth.

The leather stud was below me, tonguing and kissing my butt and then working his fingers in with some KY. He picked up two pillows and stuffed them under my belly, which lifted my butt at an inviting angle, and then he was pushing that thick cock of his into me. I tried to cry out my pain at the invasion, but Brian held my mouth firmly over his cock. I felt the Prince Albert ring rubbing the walls of my ass canal through the thin sheath all the way inside me. I was panting and trembling when his cock bottomed out inside me. And then he started to ride me hard. Stroking in deep and withdrawing nearly to the rim and then plunging in again and again and again. I grabbed around Brian's hips with my hands and grasped the brass slats of the headboard and held on for deep life. My head arched up off Brian's cock and I howled to the ceiling, but Brian just pushed my mouth back down on his cock.

I soon accommodated the leather stud and started to pump my pelvis back into him with the rhythm of his stroking. Brian and the leather stud with both grunting and groaning from the exertion and they came fairly closely together, Brian in spoutings down my throat and the leather dude by pulling out of me, jerking the condom off and spilling out across my back. The leather guy moved his pelvis up the small of my back, rubbing his cock through his spilled semen, and he and Brian kissed deeply.

The leather guy then disappeared from the picture and Brian turned me over and straddled my hips inside his thighs and brought his asshole down onto my cock. He rode my cock bareback in a familiar favorite coupling position of ours until I came deep inside him with a tired little sigh. Leaving me inside him to go tumescent, he then stretched his body down on top of mine and we slept.

I awoke the next morning on my side with my butt nestled into his crotch and his cock slowly stroking in and out of me in a side-split. There was no evidence of the leather stud, and for all I could have proved, that whole scenario was an exhaustion- and frustration-induced dream after I had dragged in from a double shift over at the naval station and fallen asleep in this bed.

Needless to say, I was late to work that morning, but satiated and a good mood for the first time since we had arrived in Key West. My good mood was to blossom, because a dapper-looking Fidel Castro went on Cuban national television that afternoon to claim he'd been out of the country on a secret meeting with the Nicaraguan president for the previous week, and Washington once more called off the Fidel death watch. I was free now to check out Brian's research of the gay clubs and bars of Key West and to find a nice sandy beach on which to dream of the snow drifts plaguing Washington.