The Giver

"Oh shit . . . Oh SHITTT!"

"Am I hurting you? Tell me, if so. I don't want to―"

"Oh, god, no. Faster, deeper. You are so big—so beautiful. Oh, god, no, don't stop. I haven't . . . in so long. Ohhhh, SHIT Yes!"

"I'm not hurting your legs? This position's OK?"

Guy's legs were running up Craig's naked torso to his shoulders on either side of his head as Craig held Guy's butt cheeks in a firm grip with his hands, squeezing and separating them. Guy was laying sideways on his small studio couch, his head almost pounding against the wall, a rolled-up pillow under the small of his back. His pelvis was elevated to the angle of Craig's cock, although the bed was low enough that Craig had to stoop a bit for the right position to work it all inside the other man's throbbing channel.

He'd been leery about feeding it all in, he was so big and thick, but Guy wanted it all—and Craig knew this was so unlikely to happen often for Guy that he wanted to give Guy what he wanted.

"You can't hurt my legs; they're dead. But my ass is alive, keep feeding it . . . oh, god, oh, god. Yes like that! Oh, Shit! Why, why are you doing this? I shouldn't be―"

"Shush. I'm doing this because I want you. You're a sexy hunk, and you turn me on."

"Oh, god . . . I'm not . . . anymore. You couldn't . . . OH CHRIST ALMIGHTY! There, right there. Like that. I'm gonna commmmm!"

"That's the idea," Craig said, with a low laugh.

Guy had been stroking his cock hard, his back arched. His legs were paralyzed and withering, but that only added to the strength of his torso and arm muscles. He hadn't given into it. He was still fighting and exercised hard to keep whatever parts of his body that functioned in tip-top condition.

Craig quickly withdrew from him and went down on his knees on the floor in time to push Guy's hand away with his lips and cover Guy's cock with his mouth as the paraplegic spouted off a month's accumulation of cum.

"God . . . you didn't have to do that. You're so good," Guy moaned weakly in release. "What are you doing? Oh, god!"

Craig had risen and stopped Guy's speaking by taking his lips in his, transferring the cum from mouth to mouth and pushing his tongue into Guy's mouth. Then his cock was at Guy's door again, pushing in, and the former soldier shuddered and trembled and started to writhe in earnest as Craig took up the rhythm of the fuck again.

With strong hands, Guy grabbed the globes of Craig's butt and squeezed hard and held Craig's pelvis close into his crotch, trying to get every centimeter of Craig into his channel.

Craig released Guy's mouth and rose up over his torso again and smiled down at him.

"What? Why? You don't have to―" Guy murmured in awe. "Oh, Christ, that is sooo hot," he moaned.

"I'm going to try to hold mine until you come again," Craig said. "OK with you?"

"Shit, yes. Shit, yes, ohhhh shit!"

Craig had lowered his teeth to Guy's nipples to chew lightly on them in turn.

It had all started some two hours earlier—in a gay movie theater. Guy had been sitting in his wheel chair beside a row of theater seats near the back of the dark room. He had a raincoat over his lap and was working his cock under it while watching the action on the screen.

It was dark enough that he didn't realize right away that a man had come and sat beside him in the last seat in the row he was next to. Men never did that in the theater. He hadn't had a man come near him since he'd returned from Iraq. He didn't expect ever again to get anything like he got out in the isolated checkpoints in Iraq, where the men were bored, scared, and willing to do just about anything to forget where they were and to feel a moment of pleasure and release. And where there were only other American soldiers they could trust to let down their guard with. Out where Guy had been stationed, they didn't send the women soldiers.

"Can I do that for you?"

It had been a whisper and was so unexpected that Guy didn't react at all until the second time he'd heard it. He thought maybe it had carried to him from some other row, where there was an occasional couple together, although most men in the theater were at least three seats from anyone else. They were still connecting, though—looking furtively around. Sometimes making eye contact. Sometimes negotiating just with the eyes and the slight signaling of nods and their hands. And getting up and moving—not together, but in circuitous routes to the curtained door beside the movie screen that led to the private booths at the back of the building.

"I said, can I do that for you?"

Guy turned his head, his disbelief only increasing as he did so. The man was gorgeous—movie star looks, with wavy hair and perfectly straight teeth that picked up the light reflected from the screen and sparkled through his engaging smile. And what Guy could see of his torso was well worked.

Guy's hands came up from under the raincoat, and he had them on the guiding wheels of his chair, ready to turn and wheel away, not knowing what sort of assault this was, but knowing that it couldn't be sex with him that this hunk was after. This couldn't be happening. The man was way out of his league . . . now. He was whole and a genuine hunk. There was no reason for him to be in this theater at all. He surely could have his pick in his office and at any high-class bar he went into. This must be some sort of joke.

Guy looked around to see if this guy had some friends pointing and giggling at them. It was too dark in the theater, though, to be sure. All the men—at least all of them who didn't have their faces plastered together, seemed to be looking at the screen.

"Please, don't be afraid," the other young man murmured. "I can do that for you. You'll enjoy it more if I do it."

Guy was trapped. The man's hand had already gone up his thigh—Guy couldn't feel that, but as dark as it was, he could see it—and under the raincoat and was encasing Guy's cock.

Guy moaned at the feel of a man's hand wrapped around his cock after all of these months of being denied that.

He started to speak, but the man spoke first. "Shush. Don't say anything. Please. Just enjoy it, as I will enjoy it."

The raincoat fell off Guy's lap and he looked down and moaned again at the sight of the hand encasing the cock.

"It's a nice cock; it deserves attention," the man said. Still with that generous smile on his achingly handsome face. "Relax," he continued. "Close your eyes and enjoy it fully."

Guy did close his eyes. And he did enjoy it fully. But the experience was ever so short. It had been so long and it was so unexpected.

"Sorry," he whimpered when he had come all over the man's hand.

"Don't be. I enjoyed it," the man whispered back. And Guy turned and moaned again when he saw that the man had taken the cum-streamed hand to his mouth and was tasting him.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the man murmured. "Do you want to taste me too?"

"I couldn't. Really. That was wonderful. No one . . . not for so long . . . but―"

"Do you enjoy sucking?"

Guy didn't respond. He was completely flustered and at a loss for words.

"If you do. I think you'd enjoy mine. And I'd enjoy it too."

He'd enjoy it. Of course Guy would like to do it. And the man had said he'd enjoy it too.

The man correctly interpreted Guy's feelings about that, and he stood, facing Guy, and unzipped his pants and took out the most magnificent cock Guy had ever seen. He had a brief flash of envy and resentment. No one that beautiful and hunky deserved to have a cock like that too.

Guy groaned as the man pulled the wheel chair up so that the side was level with the leg room in the row and give him space to place his leg and then straddled the wheelchair over Guy's lap and took his chin in one hand and the cock in the other and laid it on Guy's lower lip. Another moan and Guy opened his mouth to it and slid his lips down the shaft as the man gently pushed it inside his mouth cavity.

Closing his eyes, Guy did what he'd never forgotten to do out there in the Iraq wasteland when another soldier offered him his cock.

After the man had come, he lowered his mouth to Guy's, and they exchanged a lingering, cum-filled kiss.

The man rose up but remained standing over Guy's lap. He looked down into Guy's eyes and murmured. "Is that all? Or is there more you have done and long to do again? I am an exclusive top, but I could―"

"Oh, God. I couldn't possibly ask you to―"

"Would you be comfortable going behind the draped door . . . to the back?"

"I live only a block away. But I don't understand why you would―"

"Would you like me to wheel you, or would you prefer doing that on your own?"

After they had fucked on the narrow bed in Guy's studio apartment, they sat at his table separating the kitchen from the bed-living room and drank a beer together. Guy was still incredulous.

"It was a land mine. We were on patrol. I was the lucky one—or maybe Larry was. He died instantly, his body shielding mine except for the legs."

"Sorry to hear that. Doesn't decrease your hunkiness a bit, though. You've got some talented channel muscles. I'm hard again just thinking about where my cock's been and how well you welcomed it. And look at those biceps and pecs—and the washboard belly. God, I've got to have more of that."

"Now? You can't be serious."

"I'll show you serious—unless you don't want me to do it again. If you don't want it or you think you don't deserve it, don't believe you have the most talented channel in the city, just say so. But, as for me, I'd like to have more of that."

Guy stared at him, full of awe and wanting it again so much he couldn't refuse, although he knew he should—that something about this just wasn't right. Guys like this didn't bother with guys like Guy.

"I didn't think so. See, I'm not lying about what my cock wants."

He pushed his chair away from the table. Neither of them had put on any clothes since they had fucked on the bed.

"And see. You're ready to go again too."

With that, Craig sank to his knees on the floor in front of Guy's wheelchair and the fingers on one hand sank under Guy's balls and an index and middle finger went up into his channel in search of his still-very-much-alive prostate. The other hand wrapped around Guy's revealingly hard cock, and Craig's tongue went to Guy's ball sack.

"Oh, god, oh god," Guy moaned as he collapsed into the chair and his hips started an involuntary roll. He clasped his hands behind Craig's head, holding it close into his crotch.

When Craig sat back in his chair, he brought Guy's body out of the chair and onto his lap, positioning the bulb of his cock for Guy's channel just to slide down it, as Guy groaned and arched his back, and one of Craig's hands went to the small of Guy's back to hold him steady on the lap. Craig's mouth went to his nipples.

Guy's legs dangled uselessly at the sides of Craig's bent legs, but Craig was busy showing him that they weren't needed for this pleasurable activity at all.

* * * *

The man was giving Craig furtive looks as both moved around the adult book store shelves, looking at titles and picking up video boxes and DVD cases and reading the blurbs.

The man was dying to see what sort of material Craig was picking up, and audibly drew in breath when he saw that it was gay male material. This was arousing to the man, and he let his hand glide furtively down the fly of his trousers.

This was, in fact, pretty much the extent of the man's activities in places like this—or, at least, had been for nearly twenty-five years. At one time he was as active as any other hyper-sexed guy. He had been a sailor and had been built well and took care of himself. He'd never been a looker, but, on the ships where he'd served, they were out at sea for months or years. No women were in the navy then, and most of the sucking and fucking went on in the dark, so no one really cared about a pretty face. His body had been good, his cock had been good enough—and his technique had been considered to be superb.

That was then, though. And this was now. Now he was over sixty, what little hair he had had gone stringy gray, he had a bit of a paunch as well as a stoop, and he carried a cane and wore a hearing aid. He didn't see too well, his arms were flabby rather than muscled, which made the tattoos he'd gotten in the navy look sad indeed. Everything about him drooped. And he hadn't gotten a bit less ugly in the face. Unfortunately, he still had a cock that could stand at attention at the slightest arousal.

And the greatest arousal he could look forward to these days was watching achingly pretty young men like the one who was waltzing around the store with him, like this—undoubtedly knowing that he was being watched and appreciated and dreamed about.

And maybe he was getting a bit of arousal out of being ogled and ached for too before he went to his gentlemen's club and took the pick of the men there back to the sauna and fucked their lights out to their delight.

This had put Nelson into such a reverie that he didn't even know the young man was behind him until he smelled the tangy aftershave lotion. He'd gotten whiffs of it before as he had moved into spaces the young man with the wavy hair, movie-star face and build, and the sparkling white, straight teeth had recently vacated in front of the shelves to vicariously play off the covers that enticed the young man to take them off the shelf and read them.

This alone made Nelson hard. After this, he'd go back to his small two-bedroom bungalow and sit in his Laz-Y-Boy and slowly jack off while one of these videos in here was running on his TV. He hadn't gotten around to getting a DVD player yet.

Right after he sensed the aftershave lotion, he took his breath in sharply in shock. The man was right behind him—and he meant right behind him—and he had moved a hand around Nelson's waist and was covering and feeling Nelson's hard on through the material of his trousers.

"Oh, god," Nelson muttered, as all of the air came out of him and he almost keeled over.

The man moved his other arm around his waist to hold him up. The first hand was pulling down his zipper and getting skin-on-skin intimate with his cock.

Nelson could feel the other man's cock at the small of his back as well, and he almost hyperventilated to find that it was hard—and enormous.

"Don't speak," the man hissed. "Just nod yes or no. If I'm wrong I apologize, and I'll stop and leave the store. But you've been following me around. I think you want me. And I want you too. I won't bottom, but I'll suck and be sucked, and I'll top—with pleasure . . . for both. If that interests you, they have rooms in the back we can use."

Nelson moaned and didn't say anything. But he'd involuntarily moved a hand down to his crotch to cover the hand that was on his cock—and he was making no move to push the hand away. The hand was slow pumping his cock. It was driving him wild—beyond his wildest imagination of what could be happening now. Or could have happened any time in the last twenty years.

"Nod yes or no," the man persisted.

Craig sat on a table in the back room, trousers and briefs off and smiled down at Nelson as he sat on a chair between Craig's thighs and made love to Craig's cock.

Old as he was, he hadn't forgotten how to make masterful love to a cock, which Craig had assumed might be the case, and he quite happily and easily engorged and throbbed for Nelson's mouth and bathed Nelson's throat deep down with his cum.

Nelson looked up at him then, tears in his eyes.

"Can I. Can I see your chest as well?"

"Certainly," Craig answered with a warm laugh and he started to unbutton his shirt.

"May I . . . May I do that."

"Yes, of course."

Nelson reverently unbuttoned the shirt and took it off Craig's back—and moaned, as Craig reached down and encased his cock in both of his hands and worked it.

Nelson's hips started rolling in an old, familiar, but long unused rhythm, moving inside Craig's loose hold on his cock, as his tongue worked on Craig's nipples and up into his pits and then started working down his chest to where he planned to give Craig suck again.

But Craig laughed and lifted Nelson up with hands on his arms. "It's time to give you the cock, if you are interested in that."

"You would? Why? I don't understand. I'm just an old man . . . and you are a god."

"If you want it, I'll give it to you—and I'll tell you why. There need be no explanation for letting you suck me. You are a master of that. And age doesn't take that talent away. But do you want the cock or not?"

"It's so enormous. I don't―"

"Your throat took it. It remembered. Is there any reason why your channel doesn't remember—or doesn't want it?"

Nelson groaned and moaned and quietly wept in appreciation as he was bent over, belly on table, and Craig gently split and filled and worked inside him.

Nelson's ejaculations were weak, but there were two of them before Craig gave him his seed.

Then Craig sat on the table again, with Nelson on the chair between his thighs, cleaning Craig's cock with his tongue and licking his balls and, although he didn't intend to, helping Craig engorge again.

"You asked why," Craig murmured. "I haven't always been like this. I once was ugly and skinny as a rail. I knew I wanted men, but men didn't want me. What you see is a manufactured body. After a horrendous automobile accident in which I almost died, I had work done to change nearly everything, including intensive work to tone up my body. I remember how it was to not be the center of the attention, to wonder if any man would ever take me. And, so, when I tire of men who know they are beautiful and preen themselves, I want a man, who like I once did, knows how to fully appreciate the fuck—who doesn't get as much as they need and who I know will make the most of what they now have."

"And now," he continued, "As you can see, my cock wants more of you. If you'll rise from the chair, please, I'll take your place and we'll see if you remember to lap fuck another man."

* * * *

Craig had had his eye on the young man for some time. That's why he'd come to this gym, known as a gay pickup venue. He knew he'd find someone like this here, because when he was young and before his body had undergone all of the work it had, he was this gawking youth himself. He had come to gyms just like this and gazed longingly at the hunks working out just like that guy over there was doing.

As Craig moved around the gym floor, working the various apparatuses, it became increasingly obvious that the young man, bumbling, barely legal, tall and gangly with a pimply horse face, was zeroing in on Craig as his object of worship.

It was late in the evening, just as Craig had planned it to be. Dex, the gym's night manager was a friend of his—someone he'd helped develop an indifferent body into a terrific one and to transform a complex about sexual relations with men into confidence and an ability to seduce and dominate.

So, Craig went over and talked with Dex briefly at the reception desk when he saw the gangly youth follow another of the guys with a great body off the floor and to the showers, no doubt hoping to get a look at the guy in the altogether and have a foundation on which to build a fantasy of a great sexual experience. In his absence—temporary, Craig was sure, as it was oh so evident the youth was most interested in following Craig to the shower room—Craig made a request of Dex and received a key.

As the crowd on the floor thinned out, Craig kept exercising, slowly and deliberately, giving the young guy all of the eye candy the youth could wish for.

At length it was just Craig and the pimple-faced, frustratingly shy young guy. Even Dex had packed it in.

Craig went over and locked the door of the gym from the inside, while the young guy, confused and only now realizing he was alone with Craig, shrank back into the shadows of a line of hulking treadmills with all the bells and whistles attachments.