tagGay MaleOld-School Mayor Of Bi-Cameral Town

Old-School Mayor Of Bi-Cameral Town

byCoxswain©

for thegreatmuppetcaper, sweaty_briefs, Sneu, & mt1rosie

When I retired from the Army, I was taken care of--medical care, a little income--but I would have to get a civilian job. After 20 years in Special Forces, I was ready to lay down my sword. I'd been in firefights, wounded a couple of times, chased through jungles, attacked in the desert. I was ready to take life easy. The old-fashioned way.

The problem was that I wasn't sure what I would do. The Army was the only job I ever had--unless working in a drugstore counted. I knew one thing: I want to settle down somewhere quiet. I was tired of cities, tired of huge organizations like the Army, tired of a thousand voices telling me what to do.

Then I did something that swung the constellations around. I bought Florida lottery ticket number 69-69-1-2-3-69.

I won. Not a super-fortune, just $5 million, but it would certainly sock me away in comfort for as long as I lived (or as long as I could keep from blowing it, whichever occurred first).

Once out of the Army with an atta-boy from Uncle Sam, I decided to make a clean break with my old life. I decided to be born in a "birthday suit" of what I wore in the previous life (first time, bare skin; second time, an Army uniform). I packed a few changes of uniform into a duffel bag and burned everything else in the incinerator behind the barracks. Everything about me would be new from then on.

Wearing my cammo fatigues (the Army allows a couple weeks' leeway before switching to civvies), I took a taxi to the airport and bought a plane ticket to Los Angeles. There I bought a 1965 Austin Healey 3000 Mark III on Ebay--I swamped the owner with a cash offer that could not have been outbid.

Fabulous car. Instantly my baby. Fit my personality perfectly. Old-school sports car. No digital displays. No computers. Bright red. Completely restored. Like new.

Like me.

Next goal: a house in a small, quiet, laid-back town. I set off to drive across the country in search of one. No freeways. Country roads all the way. Hundreds of little towns.

Finally I came to America's smallest town, Tenny, Minnesota, population: 6. By then I was tired of looking. That does it. I'm taking the next place that looks small and quiet.

Not far away was Cosquex, Minnesota, population 1000. Done, damn it! I've got to settle down somewhere!

I pulled into a gas station outside the town limits. I'd just had the Healey washed, and it was looking good. I learned the Healey had different appeals for different genders: girls liked it, but they didn't know what it was, just a "red sports car"--something to be seen in, something to hold their clothes while they got fucked on a blanket nearby--or on its long hood.

Men were enthusiastic about it: "Oh, wow, man, I haven't seen one of these since I was in college!" Sure enough, as I pumped the gas, a man walked out of the station, looked over the car, and, "Is that a '65? Beautiful!"

Wow, a car guy. "Yeah, 1965 3000 Mark III."

"Does it get pretty good gas mileage?" Weird question about a sports car. Who gives a damn?

"Not that hot. Only about 18 miles per gallon."

The guy looked at me and smiled. "You're a big 'un, Sarge. Lot of weightlifting in the Army? Wow, Green Beret, too."

We got into a little conversation. I told him I just got out of the Army, planning to move into Cosquex. He told me about the neighborhoods of the tiny town--it had three.

We talked on for a while. Nice guy. Invited me to go fishing. Told me about a couple of favorite spots.

Then he asked if I wanted to see a scenic spot just behind the gas station, a beautiful view that would help me to fall in love with the place. I told him yeah; I had nothing else to do.

He led me behind the building, where a path cut through the trees. We went a short distance back, finally ending up looking out over a beautiful lake. Quite a view. "Nice place."

He stood close to me. "You're such a big guy..." He reached between my legs and cupped my balls, and I looked at him with a "what the hell" look. "Let me do something for you, Sarge."

With that, he dropped to his knees and pulled down my zipper. He fetched out my cock--"Damn, look at the size of this thing! We don't get guys your size around here much."

He bent over and kissed my cock, which had swelled up into a surprised but delight erection. Back in the Army I managed to keep all my gay whoopee on the sly. Never hooked up with guys in the cities where I was stationed.

But what luck. First guy I met in Cosquex kissed my cock and then proceeded to a very respectable suck job. "Yeah, suck it deep, man. You know you want to." I pushed it down his throat, and he made no objection--knew how to deep-throat. He took my throbbing fuck pole all the way to feel my nuts bobbling on his chin.

I pulled out to let him catch his breath, but the guy wanted it bad, his tongue buzzing over my cockhead like a vibrator. It had been a while since my last guy, and he got me bucking like a motorboat still tied at the dock.

Excellent cocksucker. Got to me in just minutes, and I let loose with a scrotumful of cum. Gulping for dear life, he got down every last drop--none of the usual leaks from the sides of the mouth. I couldn't believe it. Before I even got to Cosquex I got a blowjob! What a great sign.

He'd pulled out his own cock early in the ceremony, jacking along with his mouth action, and I'll be damned if he didn't cum at the same time I did. In fact I had to spread my legs to keep his jism off my fatigues.

When my climax burned down and I pulled out, he stayed on his knees, panting, still enjoying his afterglow. "Good salty cum, man." He looked up at me. "Ahhh, yeah, you're such a big bastard, Sarge. One powerful fucker. If you're moving to Cosquex, I want to get together with you--regular."

"Hey, that's okay with me. Let me get your telephone number."

"Got some business cards back in the station."

I drove away satisfied. Talk about a full-service station! I stopped the car at the top of the valley and looked down. Nice little village. The road led into a lowland around the river, and Cosquex nestled on the bank.

Old-school town--simple wooden houses, small town square. Nothing new-looking, no modern split-levels, no southwestern-style estancias. It was not a modern bedroom city for Minneapolis, it was an old place. Maybe once a riverboat landing and freight center. But no more.

But Cosquex wasn't tacky, either--no rotting, empty buildings, no house trailers. The grass was cut, bushes were trimmed. No trash in the streets.

I guess the first thing is to get a room. At one corner of the center square was the Cosquex Motel. The Biltmore it ain't. "Whoa, you're a big one, aren't ya!" The desk clerk got up from his chair as I walked in.

"Yeah, just got out of the Army." Can't you tell by the uniform?

Tiny motel. Ten rooms. Not much business, apparently--they weren't worried about readying the rooms: "Go ahead and lie back on the bed while I finished making the other one."

I sat on the bed, and man, I could see he had a hardon deluxe. Maximum bulge. Could almost see the blood pulsing through it. I thought, What the hell, maybe I can score another one--"Making beds gets you horny?"

He looked down at his crotch then back up at me, blushing. "Ah, no!" He chuckled, trying to laugh it off. "I don't know, it's just--" He looked straight at me. "You're such a big man. Never saw muscles like yours."

Damn, he is another one! I lowered my voice. "Come on over. You can feel my muscles if you want."

He caught his breath, then moved closer. His hands trembled as he reached out to caress my shoulder. Then he felt down my arms, over the biceps.

He swallowed, licked his lips, and his hands moved to my chest, cupping my pecs through the cloth, and when his fingers found my nipples and tweaked them, I let out a little encouraging moan.

He sank to his knees as his hands slid down my belly. By then I had a hardon, and he saw it. Stared at the bulge, in fact. "Go ahead. Touch it. You know you want to. Hey, it's okay, man, you can admit you're a bitch. You need a cock up you to be complete, right?"

He gasped. "Ohmigod, yes! You're right! You're raising the hair on the back of my neck!" His hands cupped my crotch bulge, kneading it, feeling the shaft, rubbing it.

As he pulled down my zipper--Damn, it's wearing out!--I reached down and unbuttoned his shirt. He gasped but made no resistance. As he pulled my cock out into the open air again, I interrupted him for a moment as I pulled the shirt off over his arms. Then he bent back over and went straight to a blowjob.

Whoa, yeah! Another pro cocksucker. I debated lying back and letting the guy go to town, but I wanted a little more. I stood up, pulling him up with me, and as I stared into his eyes, I stepped back, unbuckled my belt, opened my pants, and shucked down pants and underwear in a single stroke--I'm getting good at stripping.

My voice was a soft caress: "You, too."

Staring back at me like I hypnotized him, the guy undid his belt, and moments later both of us were naked--wearing only shoes/boots and socks. A sex act while wearing clothes is somehow unnatural, against the rules. Again the soft voice: "Want to fuck?"

"Yeah, oh, yeah!" He crawled onto the bed, presenting himself to me on hands and knees with a happy little grunt.

I wriggled a finger into his asshole, working it to loosen him up, and a couple of minutes later, I pulled the finger out, then worked back in two fingers. He let out a moan.

Using the same technique--and accompanied by louder moans--I finally got four fingers in him (grouped together in a bundle a couple of inches across). It must've hurt. His moaning was constant, and his erection had gone down.

Then I took over. Seizing his legs, I rolled him over onto his back then dropped over him. "All right, man, now you give me what I want, and you'll get what you need." He sucked in his breath. "I'm going to stretch that asshole of yours so big, you can smuggle gallon jugs of Pepsi." Another gasp. I gave him my "devil's laugh," deep, bass, and dangerous: "You'll be too loose for any other man after I'm done with you."

Grabbing his legs again, I raised them up to hook his ankles on my shoulders. "Like my muscles? Here, feel them with your legs." I moved forward over him, rotating his ass upward--his loosened asshole was in range of my cock, lubricated with his own spit from the blowjob. "Hold onto my thighs." He did, letting out a last, surrendering sigh.

My cockhead pressed against his asshole, and with just a little resistance, he opened to me and let my cock pop in. Another groan, gnashing his teeth.

"We'll pause here a bit while you do the Green Beret Stretch." Panting and sweating, he looked up at me, his face screwed up in pain.

I smiled. "What's your name?"

"Marion!"

"Mine's Paul. You're a hot guy, Marion. Never dreamed I'd get laid in the motel before I even signed the guest book."

"--You--made me hot--big--muscles--turn me on--gotta suck--big cock--"

"How you doin', Marion? Pain going down? Getting' accustomed to me?"

"--Yeah--not so bad--"

I sank in another couple of inches, and he stiffened up again. Again we paused. He closed his eyes. "--Love--fucked by big--big cock!--"

"Want me to stop and let you stretch?"

"--Nah--ram it--in!--Fuck me--hard--big bastard!--"

Big bastard. Second time I've been called that today. Was it something I said?

So I started stroking, short ones as I got more slimed up from his gut juices, gradually longer as the trip was easier. I think it also got easier for him. Slowly he relaxed, and in a few minutes he was enjoying himself. "--Fuck yeah!--Big cock--in me--make me--bitch!--"

I love fucking. I wonder who invented it. It's the only fun I can think of that's free, so whoever invented it must've retired rich and turned the patent over to the people. It's been around for a long time. Must've been invented back in the '50s.

My cock was really getting through to Marion. I'd dropped my hands to tweak his nipples--which brought out some excited gasps--and his feet slipped from my shoulders, slid down my arms, and when I pulled my arms from under them, his legs wrapped themselves around my lower back. His hands reached around to grasp my ass, kneading my buttocks, and he groaned--"--Motherfucker--even your--ass-cheeks--hard as iron!--FUCK ME!--big muscle-GOD!--"

Hey, give the customer what he wants. I ramped up the rutting and started long-stroking, popping my cockhead out and back in each time, giving him those extra snaps of pain, but by then any pain was only salsa on his pleasure.

Marion liked fucking so much, it was a little scary. He was panting like a racehorse, sweating so much our bodies sleazed back and forth on each other whenever I let myself rest down on him. He writhed under me, wriggling and undulating, a hot little guy matching me stroke for stroke. He clamped his fingers on my butt like he wanted to cram my dick all the way up to his throat

He got to me. Almost before I intended to, I got that little mosquito-bite in my balls, and it grew rapidly into the familiar explosion. Going over the falls, I lunged into him so far I almost got my hips up his ass. I let out a long groan, and a river of my jizz flowed into him.

And I'll be damned--another country heard from--when Marion realized I was cumming, it pushed him over the falls, too, and I got boiling jets of his slime all over my belly. All over his, too.

Good one! Yeahhh, good one! We crouched there in a simmering afterglow for a long time. I released his legs and relaxed onto him, and when my head dropped beside his, he murmured in my ear. "You are the fucking greatest! Never thought I'd have sex like this in Cosquex. Anytime you come through town, you just call me--I'll spread my legs for you anytime you want!"

"I'm moving here. Getting this room while I find a real estate agent." About then my softening cock slid back out of his ass.

"No shit, you're moving to Cosquex? That's fabulous!" He nuzzled my ear. "If you're moving here, this room is on the house while you get settled. And"--he reached down and squeezed my slimy pecker--"anytime you want the management to show its gratitude for getting a big hunk like you as a guest...I'll bring the lube."

We stood up. Still naked, he began to change the bed we just fucked on. "I'll be finished here in a couple of minutes. Then I'll leave you alone--as long as you promise not to leave me alone."

I smiled. "You're a pretty horny guy."

"Oh, hell, this town is the fucking Sahara Desert if you like men." He look back at me. "I have never been fucked as good as what you just did to me. My last fuck was two--three months ago, and then I had to drive all the way to Minneapolis!"

He reached out and tweaked one of my nipples. "Fuck, what a stud you are! I can't keep my hands off you! Where did you get all those muscles?" He bent over and kissed the nipple then suckled it.

Damn, I'm reloading! Hey, what the hell, might as well! I let him nurse until my cock was full-up hard, then I grabbed him under the armpits. With a big lift--Ooomph!--I tossed him straight up, so high his head almost hit the ceiling. I quickly grabbed his thighs as he came down--"Hold on, Marion!"--and as he held onto my neck and shoulders, I lowered his spread ass down over my cock (again).

I thrilled as I sank into his already loose and prepped hole in one stroke, and hanging on for dear life, he groaned, "Oh, my motherfucking god, you are fabulous!"

Holding a man off the ground while you're fucking him is an exertion, but I was up for it. Hunching away at him, I got Marion puffing horny little grunts, and he started nuzzling at my face, squeezing my shoulders--finally bending down to nuzzle at my neck.

Something new: ever had anybody suck your Adam's apple? He groaned loud into my throat, and--motherfucker!--his voice came out of my mouth! Hey, that did it for me. Never met an applesucker before. He got my balls so turbocharged, I turned into a geyser of sperm, showering his guts with the family home-brew.

He did it again, too, apparently got off on feeling semen surging up inside. Splattered white slime all over my chest and belly. When we finally disentangled, and I lowered him to the floor, I had sticky globs and strings of jizz matted in the hair on my chest. "Tell you what, Marion: I'm going to go take a shower while you finish making the bed."

"Anything you say, man. Anything. Anywhere. Anytime."

Damn, a fucking nympho. "You're a horny dude. Can't you find any other partners in this town?"

"No, man. There are no gays in Cosquex. You are the hottest thing that has ever happened to me here."

I went into the shower. Hasn't this guy ever gone to the gas station? I half expected Marion to climb in the shower with me, but I washed off and shaved in peace.

-==(^)==-

Now let's see what this town has for restaurants. I was so fucked-out as I pulled away, I almost got a Charlie-horse in my leg pushing down the Healey's clutch to shift gears.

As I drove down the main street, I was relieved. No "Chinese/Italian/Steak/Seafood/Fast Food" decisions. Cosquex had one restaurant: Ella's.

I parked the Healey. Again, indifference from passing women, enthusiastic looks from the men. I walked through the door of Ella's and was unimpressed. The typical Dew Drop Inn. Except for the waitress.

A knockout. Daisy Mae. Marilyn Monroe. Dolly Parton. Old-school gigantic tits, tiny waist, and hips broad enough to make you think of raising a few kids. And worse, she wore "poor country girl" rags. A torn red-check blouse that revealed more than it covered up and a blue denim skirt so short it could be mistaken for a wide belt.

And legs. Up to the ceiling. Gorgeous, shapely legs.

Somehow, long legs on a man don't have the same effect. But that woman's long legs had the right side of my brain wanting to get down and lick something.

Hey, give me a break--I'm bi. I was gay when I joined the Army. Already had a small collection of guys' cherries I had collected as a high school student. I also laid a few soldiers as I moved through Basic Training and Jump School--"Okay, buddy, now I know how easy your pants come off, no more of this gung-ho, tough-guy shit. Spread your legs, and let's get at it!"

Security was much tighter in Special Forces training, though, so I left the libido curled up in a protective jockstrap. But it wasn't quite that simple.

I was not "non-functional" with women (I fucked a couple of cheerleaders in high school but decided I liked boys better--no worries about a baby and somehow a better sense of conquest). Breaking a fighting, struggling straight guy (preferably on the opposing football team) was more of a challenge than putting it to a new-titties cheerleader who wanted it as bad as I did.

By the time I got to Fort Bragg, I hadn't fucked a woman in years. But in the Special Forces I learned to again. Had to.

Part of the SF mystique is camouflage, deception, and misdirection: The gilly-suit, a full-body cloak of gunny-sack material threaded with local plants and weeds, is a perfect concealment for a sniper. Moving quietly and slowly through the woods, you can get close enough to look the victim in the eye and hit him between those eyes with one shot.

In the don't-ask/don't-tell Army, the gilly-suit of a gay soldier was to fuck the occasional female--and make sure it was known. It was all good. Hey, for all my cock knew, I was fucking a can of pork and beans. Sex is all in the mind--and I came to enjoy women again. After high school they lose that cherry eagerness. They're more of a challenge.

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