Green-Eyed Ginger Fetish

"Don't take it like that, Owen. I don't know how long it will be, but I just can't take any chances until my wife signs the final papers. If she or her lawyer found out about you..."

Owen, an eighteen-year-old ginger-head was curled up on the bed, naked, at the half-a-star Mission Motel in the bad part of Lynwood, a bad part of east Los Angeles. Sergeant Lamar Lewis, perhaps, under the circumstances here, not one of the LAPD's finest officers, although he fought his addictions even if he rarely won and his sin was compartmented, was standing beside the bed, in his trousers. He'd taken his uniform shirt off, showing a muscular chocolate physique to die for, which had been what had brought Owen to this motel again for his third time with the cop. The cop hadn't paid for any of the sex, although he did cover the cost of the motel room and the bottle of bourbon they started with. Owen had given it to him the first time to keep the cops on his good side and because this cop had shown that he wanted it. The other time had been because Owen liked it the first time. The third time because he was started to become a habit.

Lewis worked the Watts beat, being black, hunky, and rugged enough to pull it off. Lynwood was about as far off his beat he could go for a nooner and get back on the streets of Watts on time.

He had literally found Owen under a highway bridge. He'd given into his sin and taken the young man to a motel--this motel--and fucked the shit out of him.

Owen was turned away from the big, black bull. He'd just been told they'd have to cool it for a while. That figured, as Owen, small of stature, but handsome of face and perfectly formed of body, his brassy-red hair and green eyes making him a standout, had just decided he'd like Lewis to be his one and only. He'd asked where Lewis lived, the man being separated from his wife while they went through a divorce, so the cop had claimed, and Lewis had just told him he couldn't tell him that--that they had to cut it off for a while, even though it was Lewis who was a captive to this fetish for young, little guys, especially ginger guys with green eyes.

Lewis sat down on the bed and leaned over and stroked Owen's bare hip. Owen had his legs tightly closed and his buttocks clinched.

"Come on, Owen. I don't have much time. Give me your hole for one last time for a while. Let's not waste this time." Lewis wasn't one for flowery expression. He went right to the issue, and he didn't know a whole lot of fancy words to express dirty thoughts and intentions.

"Just tell me this, Lamar," Owen said, turning toward Lewis but still curled up. "No don't do that." But Lewis did that. Owen's knees were pressed into his chest, covering his genitals, but Lewis was stronger than he was--both psychologically and physically. He didn't use the physical strength this time. He sensed it had to be a different seduction. He ran a beefy brown hand in under Owen's upper thigh and coaxed the leg to straighten up, upon which he glided his hand up the guy's inner thigh as Owen shuddered at his touch and laced his fingers in the guy's balls. Owen didn't fight the cop's opening him up.

"Tell me about your kids, the ones you're so anxious not to lose all contact with."

"Yeah, what about them?" Lewis let loose of Owen's balls and gently straightened his other leg, using gentle, sliding strokes. In the process he turned Owen onto his back. Owen didn't fight him. They both knew Owen wanted what Lewis had to give him. The hand enclosed the young man's cock, and he was stroking him lightly.

"Any of them as old as me? Any boys?"

"No, all girls. Young girls, Owen," he lied. "None like you. There ain't no guy I've done who is as young and sweet as you. It's my sin, my obsession. I shouldn't be here, doing this. But I am. There's no guy that takes me like you, opens right up for me and makes love to my dick like I like--like I gotta have. I'm already here. I gotta fuck you."

He placed his hands on the young man's inner thighs and slid them up to Owen's crotch and then down to his ankles. With a sigh of surrender, Owen moved his legs apart and allowed himself to be laid completely open to the older man's roving, gliding hands. The black, beefy hands were all over him. Owen looked down at them moving all over his body and he shuddered.

"You do like me, don't you, Lamar? You aren't just trying to spike me and then dump me."

"I'm lost to you, kid. It's heaven when I'm screwing you. It'll all work out somehow."

Lewis leaned over and kissed Owen on the inner thighs, letting his lips and tongue brush over the tender skin as the young man trembled at the touch. Gliding his mouth up to his crotch, Lewis took Owen's cock in his mouth, lacing the youth's balls through his fingers again and rolling and distending them while he gave the young man head.

No other man paid this sort attention to Owen. Owen hadn't been with men much yet, but none had sucked him off before Lewis. They all wanted him to suck them. But there hadn't been any complications--no time in the act that he had with Lewis--with the men Owen had gone into alleys with for the money and gone down on his knees to.

Owen moved his hands down to encase the black man's head and ran his fingers into Lewis's wooly black hair. "We gotta stop. I don't want this. If you've got these complications, I don't want this. It's you who's been after me, Lamar. It won't be just for a while. We need to stop. This isn't right."

"This is perfect," Lewis said, pulling off Own's cock and standing back off the side of the bed. He dug into his pocket and took out a gold-foil Trojan Magnum packet, split the foil, and flipped the packet onto the bed.

"Not if we've got to cut it off," Owen said, looking up at the big black man, while he dropped a tube of lube on the bed beside the condom packet. "You're just gonna go ahead and fuck me, aren't you? I can say 'no' all I want and get up here and try to walk out, you're still gonna fuck me, aren't you?"

"Yep," Lewis said, "I'm just gonna go ahead and fuck you." He unbuckled his belt, heavy with all of the beat cop's equipment he had to carry, unzipped himself, and pushed his trousers and briefs down and off his legs.

"Look at it. It's gotta be taken care of. We don't have much time, Owen. As you can see, I want your hole bad. And you want my dick. Dick in hole. That's what we're both here for."

Owen, looking up at the man's gigantic, jet-black erection, moaned. "Not anymore, Lamar. This isn't right."

"This here is right as rain, Owen," Lewis said, crowning himself with the condom and rubbing his shaft down with lube. "One last time for now. Let's make this fuck great. Or are you gonna say 'no' and try to get up and walk away to see what I'll do?"

"No, I'm not gonna try to walk away," Owen murmured, resigned and in need. "I'm as much an addict to this as you are."

He moaned, but he didn't struggle as Lewis came down over him on the motel room bed, turning the stretched-out youth on his stomach and encasing Owen's thighs with his knees. As big as the black cop was and as small as Owen was, Lewis liked a tight feel. He'd spike the kid as tight as possible. Owen raised his hands over his head, grabbing the brass headboard and whimpering, as Lewis lubed up the young man's entrance, pushed gobs of it inside Owen's ass, and fingered him. "Open up. Give me that luscious hole. Ah, yes, unclench. Give it to me. Like that. You're so sweet."

He handed his long, thick cock and struck it against Owen's bare buttocks and rubbed it over the young man's hole until he gauged the channel was open enough for him to get a start and Owen was panting and groaning.

"Relax. Yes, like that. More. Take it."

"Yes, yes. Fuck. Shit. Give it to me," Owen moaned.

"You want it now, don't you? It's what's right now, ain't it?"

"Fuck me. Oh, shit, screw me," Owen whimpered and then he gasped and gave a little cry as the black cop mounted and pushed the head of the cock in. Lewis hovered over the guy, penetrating and pushing deep. When he'd begun to pump the young man's ass, he reached up, grabbed Owen's wrists, and pulled them back, bowing Owen's supple torso back into his beefy chest. He moved into a rocking fuck, with the brass headboard of the motel bed thumping against the wall. It was music to Lewis's ears--the reason he liked bringing the kid to this motel.

"Shit. God. Fuck. It's so big. You're killin' me."

"And you love it."

And Owen couldn't say anything, because they both knew he did.

He'd miss this--for as long as it took for Shauna to sign the divorce papers with the stipulations now there--keeping it now that she was at fault for opening her legs to other men and not giving a hint that Lewis liked to fuck eighteen-year-old guys, and, especially, Owen, who he had to admit he'd grown to love.

When Owen and Lewis left the Mission Motel room on Long Beach Boulevard, going off in opposite directions after Lewis had gotten a last feel and kiss of the guy at the motel room door, they were both looking down and moving furtively, so they didn't notice the venerable silver Bentley saloon car incongruously sitting across the motel parking lot or the man, when he saw them coming out of the motel room door a couple of doors down, pulling back and motioning the blond eighteen-year-old he himself had been fucking back into the room until the cop and the ginger-haired guy had cleared the area.

* * * *

Owen knew who the man in the grocery store was. He was Brad Chandler, the hunky actor appearing in all those action films, always stripped to the waist in the films to add millions to the film's viewing profits. Owen was bagging groceries at the Trader Joe's on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, so it wasn't at all surprising to see movie stars in here buying their groceries. But he was surprised that, when he let his eyes go to the film star standing in line at the cash register he was working beside, Chandler was looking back at him and smiling with what seemed to be a knowing smile. Chandler in the flesh looked older than Owen thought he would, certainly older than he looked on screen, and Owen would be surprised to know the man was past forty--and reaching the age where he had to put effort into being cast in the kind of movies that had made him famous and Hollywood a lot of money.

The man bought only one bag's worth of groceries, mostly a cold six-pack of beer, but still, when it was bagged, he gave Owen a smile and said, "Could you carry that to my car for me?"

"Sure," Owen said. That wasn't too unusual. Owen had heard that movie stars always had little people around them to fetch and carry for them. He was just surprised that the man smiled at him and touched his forearm lightly when he asked for car delivery. Brad Chandler knew exactly the effect he had on movie fans. Owen was just a homeless guy bagging at Trader Joe's off the clock for the tips when he could establish a position next to a check-out lane. No one looked at him here--well, some did, he knew he was a strikingly good-looking young man, especially with his ginger hair and green eyes--but he was just a eighteen-year-old, a nobody in this town. He was close to invisible.

But not to the hunky movie star, Brad Chandler, apparently.

The car Chandler guided him to was a gorgeous silver vintage Bentley saloon car. This wasn't a surprise to Owen either. The movie stars drove something to be noticed. He went around to the trunk.

"No, thank you, you can put the bag up front," Chandler said. "I want to drink the beer while it's cold."

Owen gave the bag an uncertain look. Chandler laughed, and said, "No, I don't plan on drinking and driving or drinking it all myself. I'm hoping you'll join me--somewhere private."

"What?" Owen said, still confused. Chandler was standing close in front of Owen. He was confident in himself. He knew the effect he had on people and, having seen Owen come out of the Mission Motel with a black cop who was still adjusting his pants pretty much told Chandler what Owen would do for a man.

"When do you get off work? But you don't really work the clock here, do you? You can leave anytime you wish. You just need to make some money, and if there's another way to make it other than bagging groceries, you don't need to be here." The man was holding a hand out toward Owen, and when he turned it over, Owen could see that the man had a wad of twenties in his palm. He was soon to learn there were five bills--$100. He worked for the tips, but this was more than a tip. Owen wasn't dumb. He knew what this was for. Chandler's other hand reached out to snake up under the hem of the young man's T-shirt, the palm going to Owen's now-trembling belly, the thumb pressing into his navel.

"This will be for a blow job. You let me fuck you, and there'd be another two hundred."

"What. Why do you think--?"

"The Mission Motel in Lynwood. You do it for black cops. I think you'll do it for me. I like them young and sweet--just like that cop apparently does."

Oh.

"So, can you get off work now? Do you need and want the cash? Would you like to take a drive with me up into the hills?"

Owen took the wad of cash.

They didn't drive far, up Canyon Drive onto Mount Hollywood, on twisty roads toward the Griffith Observatory and the Hollywood sign. Chandler pulled the Bentley off onto a fire trail road with a view out over Los Angeles, driving the big car into the foliage far enough not to be seen from the access road but not so far that it would be difficult to reverse the land boat out.

"Let's get in back, where it's more comfortable," he said, as he opened the driver's door. "Bring the beer."

"In back?" Owen asked.

"It's easier to fuck in the backseat than the front," Chandler said, giving Owen a slightly irritated look. Didn't this kid fully get it yet?

Owen didn't say anything then, so he must have understood what was what. He just thought it was a bit bald and rushed.

When Chandler exited the car, he pulled his shirt off. His muscular chest was his signature look. At his age he always put his best image forward. If a guy was thinking of laying down for him, a torso look added to knowledge he was an action movie star would do it. Much better, unfortunately than seeing what Chandler was packing, which was OK, but nothing special.

As they entered the backseat from opposite sides, he reached over and pulled Owen's T-shirt off. "There, equals, as much as a man and guy can be. Comfortable? Hand me a beer. Take one yourself."

"I can't really drink," Owen said. "I'm eighteen."

"I guessed you were that young. You're almost too young to fuck, too, but here we are and I'm going to fuck you. Drinking is the least of the sinning we're going to do. Have a beer." He gave Owen a quizzical look. "I am going to fuck you, aren't I?"

"I guess so," came the answer.

Owen handed Chandler a can of cold beer, took one himself, popped the tab, and took a big swig. He'd made it, living under a bridge, these last few weeks by letting men fuck him for a few bills, but this was strange. It also was arousing, and this was a major movie star, and, although older than he thought, the man was still a hunk. The money offered was also a lot better than any other guy had given him for the servicing.

Owen reached out and touched the legendary hard-muscle chest. Chandler laughed. "Feel all you want, kid." Owen let his hand glide over the man's pecs as they both took drags on their beer. Chandler took Owen's hand and moved it down his six pack. The man spent hours upon hours in the gym maintaining his signature look. He moved the hand to where Owen's fingers went under the waistband of his trousers.

"Unbuckle and unzip me," Chandler said in a husky voice. Owen did so. Taking his hand off Owen's, Chandler grabbed the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down to lodge them under his balls. His cock popped out, hard and erect. It wasn't as thick and long as Lamar Lewis's was, but few men had that on Lewis. Chandler took Owen's nearly empty can of beer out of his hand, rolled the car window down, tossed the can out, and said, "Get down here on your knees and service it."

Kneeling on the floor of the commodious compartment between the movie star's spread legs, Owen took the man's cock in his mouth and gave him suck. Grabbing his wrists, Chandler brought the young man's hands up to palm his pecs, and Owen felt the man's torso muscles up as he sucked. After a bit, Chandler leaned over Owen's slowly bouncing head, reached under and unbuckled and unzipped the guy's trousers, and pulled them down to Owen's knees. He let his hands glide around and down Owen's bare back to his mounds. Chandler spit on the fingers of one hand and pressed in between the young man's butt cheeks, finding and invading his hole. Owen jerked and moaned, but he continued working the man's cock with his mouth.

Chandler got a finger in deep and finger fucked the ginger-haired youth. It wouldn't be much of a transition to exchange finger for cock. There was no question that Owen would let the man fuck him.

At length, Chandler reached for Owen's waist and lifted him, brushing the young man's trousers and briefs off his legs. He brought Owen up into his lap, positioning the young man's hole on the cock head.

"Maybe we should--"

"You've had enough time to say 'no' if you were going to say 'no,'" Chandler growled. "You gave it out to the black dude at the motel. You can damn well give it to me."

Owen gasped and moaned as he descended on the cock into the man's lap. They held there momentarily.

"I think you know what to do now," Chandler murmured. Over the past few weeks that he'd been out on his own, Owen indeed had learned what to do at this point. His knees firmly pressed into the base of the plush seat on either side of Chandler's hips, Owen leaned his torso back, resting his elbows on the top of the front seat backs, and began rising and falling on the man's cock, fucking himself.

"Yeah, you know what to do," Chandler said.

He encased the narrow waist of the eighteen-year-old and helped guide him in the fuck. Owen's eyes focused on the man's magnificent chest and how the muscles rolled in the cadence of the fuck.

Afterward, they slouched there in the deep seat, side by side, both recovering, while they drank their second beer.

"Why me?" Owen asked. "You came in the grocery store looking for me, not groceries."

"Why not you?" came back the answer.

"I'm just a little guy. Eighteen. From the streets. You're a movie star. You can probably have anyone you want."

"Precisely. I wanted you. You are beautiful. The ginger hair, the green eyes, the perfect little body. You haven't been on the streets long, have you?"

"Long enough."

Chandler laughed. "Yes, certainly long enough to learn to do this to earn your keep. But someone must be looking for you."

"Not now, I'm sure. They don't even know I'm gone."

"Surely that isn't true."

"It is. Again, why me, though? You came right for me at Trader Joes. You knew I'd been to that motel with a black cop. But why did you come for me? You're a star. You could have anyone."

"I wanted you. I have my reasons. You fit the bill, especially now that I know what you'll give me."

"What I gave you, do you mean?"

"No, what you'll give me again now. That beer almost gone? Give me the can." Owen did so, and the two cans joined the first two outside the back door window of the Bentley. Chandler turned to Owen, embraced him, and took him into a deep lip-lock kiss. His free hand went to Owen's thighs, moved into the inner part of them, and glided down and up.

"Open your legs to me and roll your hips up. Give me your ass," he demanded. He was using the tough-guy voice he often used in the movies. It worked with Owen.

With a sigh, Owen spread his legs and lifted his tail for the man. Chandler took Owen's cock in his hand while they continued kissing and stroked it. Turning both of them, he lay the young man along the seat and moved on top of him. He kissed down Owen's small body until he reached and swallowed the young man's cock. After a few minutes, he encircled the youth's waist with an arm, elevated Owen's pelvis, and moved his mouth down to tongue Owen's hole.