Wild One

"I have a cabin up near Jefferson City, on the Missouri River. I'm going up there the week after next. I thought you might like go with me. I'd give you the time off. Fishing and hiking in the hills and . . . you know . . ."

Yes, Martin knew what John Shield, the owner and manager of Shield's Hotel in Willow Grove, Missouri, meant by the "you know." He was touching the eighteen-year-old on his arm, rubbing the tight weave of the shirt material between a thumb and forefinger and giving the young man a cow-eyes look. Martin should be flattered that the not-so-old, maybe in his early thirties, good-looking, and prosperous hotel owner was showing interest in him. Shield had bought Martin the shirt he was wearing so that, Shield said, Martin would look presentable when he worked in the hotel. The hotel owner would have bought so much more for Martin, if the young man had been willing to play with him for it. Martin hadn't made up his mind about "things" yet, though, and he wasn't going to let life get complicated until he did. Until then he wasn't going to reject future possibilities with Shield, however.

It wasn't like Shield had misinterpreted any signals from Martin. Martin hadn't backed away from the looks and innuendo he received. He's definitely conveyed "when the time is ripe." He just hadn't stepped forward yet. It was clear that Shield thought a trip to his mountain cabin the week after next would be ripe time.

Shield wasn't the only one in town who gave Martin clothes and such. He wasn't even the only one who gave Martin cow eyes. The priest at the Catholic church, where Martin sometimes was an altar boy, gave Martin those looks too—and he touched Martin whenever he had a chance—not all that intimately yet, though—not yet. Martin wouldn't have let it go that far without making a decision what he was going to be in life. He didn't want to cut off all possibility with the priest until then because he felt sorry for how the man had pined for him. If Martin ultimately decided to go with men, he'd give the priest some satisfaction, but not much or more than a time or two.

Martin was so good looking that the girls—and even some married women—in the village gave him cow eyes too. But Martin wasn't aroused by the women like he was by the men. If he didn't go with the men, he increasingly realized that he'd be in an eternal fight with his instincts.

John Shield would be a good catch for anyone. Shield's Hotel and restaurant was the most prosperous business in town, living mostly on commercial salesmen needing someplace to stop between Kansas City, in Kansas, and Springfield, in Missouri. And Shield, as well as being the best-looking man in his age bracket in town, was also the richest one. He had the first car owned by a Willow Grove resident, a Chevrolet Series 490, bought the previous year, in 1914, for the enormous price of $490. And he'd also gone all the way to Baltimore that year to attend the National Star-Spangled Banner Centennial Celebration. He'd brought the trappings of the flag and celebration back to Willow Grove and that was the theme of the hotel's decorations this year. He also wasn't married, which meant all of the young women in the area had set their caps for him—at least all who had given up on Martin already. But he didn't seem to be interested in any of them in a matrimonial way.

Martin suspected he knew why. And that was because Shield was showing interest in him that Martin would have thought would have gone to the most likely female catch in that town. And at eighteen and just now becoming attuned to his developing sexuality, Martin was discovering that he, like Shield, seemed more interested in men than in women.

"There's a bell," Martin said, looking up at the board behind the reception desk. "Room 210. Should I go up and see what they want?"

"Yes, why don't you do that," Shield said, sighing and going back behind the reception desk. Martin was a sometime worker at the hotel, doing whatever odd jobs needed to be done and that could be done by a smallish sort of late teen with a slim, if always in motion, body. He had a mop of blond hair, watery blue eyes, and an infectious smile that won hotel guests over even when they were irked about something. Martin always was ready to help someone out.

Shield had been conquered by Martin's ready smile and he sincerely wished the young man would help him out with something—something of his choosing that involved vigorous exercise.

Martin was known around the town as the "wild one." Some men, like Shield—and some women too—would like that to have meant that the young man took risks and was ready to do the unconventional or downright scandalous, but it had more to do with his nature. He was a child of nature. If he had parents or a nuclear family, they were long gone. He was a spirit of the forest surrounding the town. He was here and there—helping out here, attending a meal with a family there, sleeping who knew where? He had no grounding and yet he was a free spirit, personally grounded, not flighty in the least.

There were many who would like to take hold of him and possess everything he was, but, as yet, none had. Martin was aware of this interest in mastering him, of course, and felt he was on the cusp of making choices. But he wasn't sure that going to a cabin alone with John Shield in two weeks' time was a good choice . . . yet. The young man did have urges and desires building, though. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he committed to momentous decisions. And there certainly was nothing about John Shield that put Martin off going with him.

At the hotel, when he wasn't someplace else helping someone raise a roof or plant a garden, he was delivery boy, bus boy in the dining room, and sometimes a waiter in the hotel's bar.

It was in the hotel bar that he first encountered a particularly handsome—as handsome as John Shield, nearly the same age as Shield, and a much more glib talker than Shield was—salesman named Theo who was traveling from some large town to some other larger town. He had a last name and told Martin at the time what it was, but Martin didn't remember. Martin was focused on how worldly the man seemed to be and what a smooth talker he was. As Martin was taking a beer to him in the bar one night, the salesman and the bartender were talking about a small caravan of gypsies that had been parked in a clearing in the woods outside of town, near the lake, for a week.

"I'm happy they tend to stay in the countryside," Theo said. "They always seem to have the same wares in their caravan wagons that I'm selling and at a cheaper price."

"That's because they stole it off whoever you sold it to the last time," the barkeep said, with a snort. "The longer those people stay someplace, the more that goes missing in the area. And not just things, either. You best nail down your young'uns, girls and boys alike, when there's a gypsy caravan in town. They steal even those."

"Still, they are carefree folk and free spirited," Theo said. "Sometimes I wish I could just hide in one of their wagons and roam the world with them."

He then started talking about what he'd seen in the world, and Martin was mesmerized. The salesman seemed to like that he was entertaining to Martin and he focused what he said about what he seen and done in life on what seemed to make Martin's eyes light up.

At dinner that night in the hotel restaurant, Martin was bussing the tables and Theo was there. John Shield stopped at the salesman's table and they exchanged talk about the nation's capital, Washington, D.C., which Shield had visited the previous year when he went to Baltimore and Theo claimed to have visited several times.

Martin kept an ear tuned to their conversation while he worked, and he sighed more than once at the thought of traveling all the way to the coast and seeing the nation's capital. When Shield moved on to greet and chat with other guests in the room, Theo called Martin over to him.

"Here, this is for you . . . did you say your name was Martin?" He held out two one-dollar bills, which was about as much money rubbing together as Martin had ever seen before.

"What's that for?" Martin asked, wide eyed.

"I meant to leave you a tip in the bar and didn't, and I'd like you to bring a pitcher of ice water up to my room tonight at about 8:00 if you're still on duty then."

"I go off at 8:00," Martin said, "But I'd be happy to bring you your water before I leave."

"Perfect," Theo said, giving Martin a dazzling smile.

* * * *

Martin had been tightly closing his eyes. He opened them and turned his gaze toward the sound of running water. It wasn't water though. From where Martin lay on his back in the bed in room 214 at Shield's Hotel, he had a straight line of sight into the adjoining bathroom. Shield's Hotel was about as fancy as you could get in a small Missouri town. Two rooms shared a bath. Room 212 wasn't occupied tonight, so Theo had a bath all to himself.

Theo was standing in front of the toilet, pissing an arc into the bowl. He turned his face to Martin and saw the young man watching him. He smiled and said, "That was really nice. You take it like a virgin. I'll be just a few more minutes and we'll do it again. You're a clever one. You know that men who like to fuck eighteen-year-olds want to take it like they are virgins."

Martin groaned. "Yes, thank you, sir," he answered. But he'd taken it like a virgin because that was what he'd been. He'd dreamed about doing it—having a man do it to him. Lately he'd obsessed about it. Well, he didn't have to obsess about it anymore—or worry about whether that was what he wanted and whether he could and would do it. Yep, that salesman was one smooth talker. But the young man had to admit that he had been ripe for this. This is what he wanted. It had been painful at first but eventually he'd gotten enough hint of the pleasure it could be when he was accustomed to it for him to be willing to do it again. He stuck with it because he had decided this was what he wanted.

His legs felt numb. They were still spread and bent, having been held in position hooked on the man's hips and shoulders forever, it seemed, as the man had filled, stretched, and moved inside him, obliterating his virginity. His feet were flat on the bed. He felt a bit sore, but the man had taken his time. He'd greased himself and Martin's hole real well after he'd slobbered all over and in the crease of Martin's buttocks, and he'd penetrated him slowly, waiting for Martin to adjust to him and stop groaning and panting real hard before going deeper and then again before starting to pump him.

"Yes, yes, take it like a virgin," Theo had kept whispering. "The more you take it the better it gets." And that had encouraged Martin to keep taking it.

Theo had lain between Martin's legs, an arm encircling Martin's waist and holding Martin close in and relatively still, taking most of his own weight on his knees and an elbow, as he fucked Martin's channel. He'd pulled his cock out almost to the surface and creamed Martin just inside his entrance when he'd come and then slid inside again, through the cum, and continued fucking Martin until he'd gone flaccid.

Martin had just lain there and taken it, belabored but yielding, cooperative, and easily manipulated into the positions the man wanted him in for greater, easier access by his shaft and to assuage the man's lust. Once he'd accepted it was happening, Martin didn't want to say or do anything wrong, so he just lay there, his eyes watching the pitcher of once-iced water he'd brought to the room go untouched, and let Theo do it all. He had assumed it would happen someday, and he was glad it was by someone who was good-looking, experienced, relatively patient, and who didn't live in this town. It was a good, uncomplicated way for a young man to check out whether he wanted to be a submissive and lie down and open his legs for men.

If he found he didn't like it, didn't want to do it again, he could just pretend it never happened. But he now realized he did like it. Theo was also showing him that men would pay to cover him. There was a ten-dollar bill on the bureau in the hotel room that was all for Martin as long as he gave the man everything he wanted tonight.

In the bathroom, the door open to the hotel room, Theo was leaning over the toilet, one hand palming the wall behind the commode and the other stroking his cock, working to regain his erection.

Martin watched him, trying to determine if the man would be considered to be hung or not. It made a difference on how big a man Martin could consider he'd taken—whether taking the next man would be harder than having taken Theo. Martin did now realize that there would be a next man—and a man after that. Theo had told him it would be easier to take with each successive time Theo fucked him. He did say he'd fuck Martin as often as he could get it up tonight; he didn't often get a lay as malleable as Martin. He'd made sure that Martin would agree that the ten dollars was for all night, as many times as Theo wanted to do it. There was no question that Martin would want to do it again. There had been pleasure and he had gotten focused attention. It almost was like Theo was worshiping his body while he fucked him. He hadn't been close to anyone before now—certainly not as intimate as having someone holding him close and being inside him—being lost in desire for him.

Theo returned to the bed, still stroking his cock, and sat down beside Martin's waist. He leaned down and took Martin's lips with his and, at the insistence of Theo's tongue, Martin parted his lips and let the man take possession of his mouth. Theo moved his free hand between Martin's thighs and penetrated him with a finger. Martin arched his back and moaned, moving a hand to his own cock, which was aching for attention. Theo's finger moved in and out, rhythmically. Then there were two. Martin emitted a low moan. Martin put his hips in motion, rocking against the moving fingers inside him. He reached down and touched, and then enveloped the man's cock with his hand. Theo was hard again.

Coming out of the kiss, Theo stopped moving his fingers. He kept his face hovering close over Martin's and said, "You do it. Fuck yourself on the fingers. Rock your hips on them. Suck them in deeper. I'd like you more open for the next one."

Groaning, Martin rocked his pelvis on the fingers, which went lower and found something inside Martin's passage to rub that nearly sent him over the moon.

"Have you done this before?" Theo asked.

"No. I think I'm gonna come," Martin whispered. "I can't help it."

"Fine. Come whenever you want or have to." Theo kept rubbing Martin's prostate with the tip of a finger and Martin kept rocking his pelvis on the fingers and stroking his cock. Theo took possession of the boy's mouth again, swabbing his inner cheeks with his tongue until Martin instinctively captured and started sucking on the tongue inside his mouth. He tensed and jerked. Theo held him tight, not letting him move away from the embrace and the possession of his channel by the moving fingers. Martin jerked again, ejaculated, and collapsed back on the bed.

Theo let Martin fall onto the bed on his back and rose, between Martin's thighs, the young man's legs dangling off the end of the bed. Theo stood over the young man, smiling, pulling on his erection with one hand and stroking Martin's thighs, balls, and cock with the other hand. Martin moaned for him. Theo took Martin's cock in his hand and stroked the young man to an ejaculation.

"Good. Now me again." Theo turned Martin onto his belly and climbed up on the bed and over the youth. He wrapped an arm around Martin's belly and lifted his hindquarters up to where Martin was on his knees, but his chest was pressed into the mattress. The salesman went up on his feet, crouched over Martin's tail, mounted the young man's ass, slid his cock inside, and began to pump. One of Theo's hands went around Martin's torso to palm one of his pecs, and the man thrumbed and rolled Martin's nipple between thumb and forefinger. The thumb of the other hand entered Martin's mouth and the young man sucked on it while he was being fucked. Later he would be presented Theo's post-coital cock to be sucked and cleaned with his mouth.

Martin groaned and whimpered, but he was climbing the levels of arousal, lust, release, experience, and satisfaction. What was painful before wasn't as painful now. What gave a hint of promised pleasure before was providing more pleasure now.

The next time will be less painful, more pleasurable—and the time after that even more so—kept rolling through Martin's brain as he gave and gave and gave to the traveling salesman.

As yet, Martin had only been fucked twice in his life, both times this evening, the first time stripped him of his anal virginity. The second time was the start of him learning techniques of exploring sexual pleasure. The smooth-talking salesman had made a sale.

* * * *

Martin lay there on the hotel room bed early the next morning and watched the salesman brush his teeth and shave, then dress, and then take his suitcase and leave the room. Occasionally he'd turn his head toward the young man and smile. He didn't say anything, though. He'd fucked Martin a third time, in the middle of the night after putting them into a sixty-nine position and guiding Martin to suck him while he was giving Martin head. Then he'd lain back on the bed, lifted Martin up by the waist and set him down on the cock, and Martin, under his guidance, had ridden the shaft.

Martin hadn't resisted. He hadn't initiated anything, but he hadn't known how to do anything. He'd had it in his imagination, but he didn't have the details down of how to do it in real life. The salesman taught him how to take it, at least. Martin had anticipated the pain part, if only in theory. He hadn't anticipated the pleasure of being fused with another and of the passion of the act—of the acts. He hadn't had any idea of the variety of positions in which he could be filled with a cock, and Theo had told him they hadn't even begun to exploit all of the possibilities. Theo was athletic in the fuck and had demanded the same from Martin. Would most other men be this athletic and demanding as well? Were these the greatest fucks Martin would ever have? Was this the biggest cock he'd ever take?

While they were fucking, there was nothing else in the world for Martin. He concentrated on a man wanting him, wanting him enough to be inside him, wanting him enough to release his seed inside him. This was exhilarating for Martin and also still confusing and fraught with questions. He was on the threshold—no, across the threshold, beyond the beaded curtain—of a whole new life. Was this already the best it would ever be?

Afterward Martin thought back on why it had been so easy for Theo to get his cock in him. Martin had heard the expression of "talking the pants off" of someone before. He hadn't known what that would mean in real life. Now he did.

Ten minutes after Theo left, Martin rolled out of the bed with a groan—he hadn't known how sore it could make him and what it felt like to be filled and stretched either—laying there and panting with every sensor in his body focusing on the pulsating club filling his gut. He stumbled into the bathroom, grateful that the adjoining Room 212 hadn't been rented out, and cleaned himself up with the damp washcloth Theo had left on the sink. He pissed and shat, dressed, and gingerly descended the staircase to the hotel lobby.

He wasn't working at the hotel this day, thank God, and John Shield wasn't up and at the reception desk yet. The others scurrying around the hotel weren't aware that Martin wasn't on duty, though, so no one challenged him about sleeping the night in a hotel room, although God knew there hadn't been near enough sleeping going on.