Jake

In the prison world, amongst those who are behind bars, so I have been told, there is a maxim 'You are not a man, until you have fucked a man.'

By that rule, I was not a man.

Was, that is. Past tense. I am now -- and that's my story.

I am 'older' - a 'Senior Citizen'- 'snow on the roof, but with a roaring fire in the furnace' -.. active.. - not a virgin -- not by a long shot! Rob, my buddy, and I certainly enjoyed a 'romp on the bed,' him mounting me whenever we got together. And that was at least every week to ten days. We had talked about it, - me fucking him - but it had never gotten to that.

Rob died. Last year. I miss him.

I miss him very much.

But, grieving as I may be, even so, as Rob would have said, 'Life is made for living', and with the sure knowledge that I was not getting any younger, that if I was ever going make good any intentions of topping a man while I was still alive and kicking, then I had better get serious and get me another partner.

A partner, this first time out, not just any man who was 'ready, willing and able', but, my preference, a younger man, a man maybe in his early thirties; someone no longer necessarily in the bloom of youth, but someone now with some maturity, but not yet jaded by the a of 'middle age'. Someone intelligent, easy to talk to. Someone 'easy on the eyes', - yes -- someone who, catching my eye, would spin my head around for a long second look - long, lean, nicely muscled, a bodybuilder maybe, of the Frank Zane or Tony Pearson aesthetic. And someone who was experienced, a man who 'has already been around the block', - a couple of times maybe -- who could be up for giving a newbie his first-time experience.

Not a tall order, I know. So who?

Jake.

Jake is a hunk. 36, 6'4", lean, hard-muscled - he is a bow-hunter, veins snaking the length of his biceps, - trim-waisted, flat-bellied, abs popping, obliques striated, pecs firm, good legs and feet. And hairy. 'Gorilla hair', as he has described it. Black, wiry, front, back, head to toe.

His profile pic, - his is the only face pic singularly standing out from all of the dick and bare ass pics on the page - not smiling, hair pulled back, parted in the middle - and when I did get to meet him in person, a thin braided ponytail hanging down his back. Black leather vest over bare chest, bare arms, black hair whorling up his bare shoulders. In his second pic he's wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Lynard Skynard t-shirt, black jeans, his thumbs hooked into his pockets, belted with a silver buckle, and boots, leaning against the king cab of his Dodge Ram, and photographed against a background of recent two-car garage subdivision houses, presumably his neighbourhood. Very much his own person, not unlikely a bit taciturn. Exuding masculinity, one very sexy dude, smouldering hot.

We have a history, Jake, Rob and I. Not as much of a history as I would like, but that is to be wished for.

Playing back the video on his profile, - a younger Jake, by maybe ten years, naked on a couch, keyboard in his lap, jacking for a pay-for-view on-line audience - I had left a comment how I would like to be running my fingers through that mat of his hair.

A week or so later he emailed me back, 'You said you liked me. Would you be interested in buying a night?'

'Buying a night?' Whoa.. Whaa?

'Buy a night?' Then, the realization, - a bit of a shocker - he's a 'pro'. He's a hooker. Selling himself for a bit of cash on the side? Or full time?

Fuck. "Buy a night?" I asked. 'Uh,.. how much? '

"Five hundred."

"Ah,.. no.. I don't think so." "I am a pensioner," I went on to say, ".. and that is too rich for me, right out of my league. But thanks for asking."

"Ok," he said, "No prob. Just asking."

I told Rob how he had tried to hit me up. "Could be fun," Rob said. "You mean..? "Yeah," Rob said, "The two of us. It could be fun." "If he's a pro, he's gotta know what he is doing.. how to look after himself." "No worries there". "It would be something different."

'Okay.. yeah,' I began to think, 'Yeah! A three-some. It could be fun.'

Rob got in touch with him. 'Two hundred, for the two of us.. for an hour.'

When he buzzed to come up I saw him first. The elevator door opening, his 6'4" filling the door frame. Wearing leathers, rich dark burgundy, vest and pants. 'Damn, he's hot,' I thought, 'he is hot!'

Rob negotiated the cash, - folded bills, a quick count, - and I watched him stripping off the leathers, folding them on the chair. And, naked, he is hot. With, yes, gorilla hair. Really hot. One fucking hot dude.

"Where?" he wanted to know.

"Bedroom," Rob told him, leading the way, the three of us crowding the room, all of us now naked, and him checking out the bed,

"How do you want to do it.. side-by-side? Me in the middle? Alternating, back and forth?"

"You in the middle," I said, me catching a better look at him, him, He was already hard, pulsing hard, purpling, uncut, skinned back, and longer than the 'average' had posted on his profile - more like seven if he was an inch. 'Holey fuck', I said to myself. 'He's everything we could bargain for.'

And then, the three of us on the bed, him between us, legs, belly, chest, shoulders, arms matted in thick, wiry black hair - a gorilla for sure -, my fingers already into it, letting them run through it, my nose breathing in his man-scent - funky, heady, leathery, almost the match of his burgundy leathers. "You like? he asked "I like!" I replied.

And, groping his crotch, my hand taking hold of his length, already up and hard, feeling it out, "And this I like. Very much," I said. And unhesitatingly he stretched out for me to feel the full length of it.

Stroking him, foreskin up and over, then letting it slide back, to make conversation, I asked, "Your other clients, overnight - what do they ask for?" "Just about everything," he said. "Some want to go all the way. Some just want to cuddle. Some just want to sleep beside me," he said.

I wanted to go down on him. "Be my guest," he responded. I did, gagging when I could take no more of it, all the while my fingers kneading through that mat of hair, and Rob appreciating what he could see me doing, and him jacking Rob at the same time I was sucking on him.

Then, "Let me," he said, indicating he was up for sucking my cock. And he was good. Taking me in all the way, deep throating, audibly appreciative, with little grunting throat noises.

Me, my mind was spinning with what I was sensing, feeling, and hearing what he was doing for me. For sure I thought the top of my cranium was going to spin off. I was in orbit, soaring higher and higher into the heavens.

Then just as I was rising to the climax, he was down on Rob - 'Oh, 'oh', 'oh,' - whew-ee!' -, and I got to appreciate what I could see he was doing with Rob. Then back to me. And then Rob. And me again, then Rob, at some point, asking Jake, "You gotta be getting ready to cum?"

"Not yet," Jake, replied, shaking his head nonchalantly, ".. not for a while yet."

"Are you guys ready for something more?" he asked.

We voiced our agreement. "Who goes first?" he asked.

A quick exchange of glances. Rob demurred to me.

"Condom?" he asked, his tone suggesting the right answer would be 'yes'.

I had some Sheiks in the nightstand. Seeing him struggling with one to get it on, I could see it was going to be small on him, - too small -, and I said so. He shrugged, "It'll do," he said, and unrolled it, stretching it up his shaft as long and as far as he could get it.

Rob meanwhile was squeezing out a blob of lube, spreading my cheeks and slathering me up.

"Ok, how do you want it? Doggy? Laying on your side?"

Together Rob and I said, 'We're usually laying with me on my side.'

"Sideways it is," Jake said.

I went into fetal position, his forefinger beginning to probe my hole as I spread to accommodate him. Then two fingers, working my hole, and, then, satisfied I was ready, that moment when, sucking in my breath, I felt and knew him to be 'on the mark'. "You're ready for this?" he says, beginning his entry.

Slowly, but unrelentingly, I could feel him coming into me, penetrating me. Then back, not all the way, and a second probe, penetrating further. It was good. It was so good. A third, then a fourth time, then, no longer counting, stroking purposely, in and out, probe after probe, he was working my guts - the muscles of my channel, responding, drawing him in, working his probing to pull him in deeper. We were in unison, and I was soaring higher and higher towards a zenith.

Then, faster, and faster, and faster, ploughing me, now grunting, snorting, pleasure overriding pain, me wanting more and more of him and what he was doing to me. Humping, grinding, it was pure heaven - then.. plunging deep inside me, deeper than he had penetrated before, and holding himself there deep inside me.. a long, a very vocal, guttural ejaculation, and.. expiation. He had gone over the top. Emptying his loins into me. Flooding me.

A moment of nothing. No further stroking. Me, holding him, his muscled body, tight to me. Me, savouring what he had been doing. Then, withdrawal, me, feeling empty without him, my sphincter puckering, rhythmically, coming down.

I had been fucked. And I knew it. Fucked by a pro, who knew what he was doing. And I knew it.

Eyes open now, I saw him stripping off the condom, a viscous white liquid filling it, him knotting it. And Rob, answering the silent question, telling him he could dispose of it, in the waste can in the bathroom. Or in the toilet. Whatever, Rob said.

Jake was finished. And Rob, even as I was protesting that he hadn't been fucked, acquiescing, demurring to be second to my first, left the bedroom with Jake to where Jake had stashed his clothes. Jake got dressed, lacing up the red leather jock strap, snugging it; then right leg first, tugging on the leathers, tucking in the shirt, running his hand back through his hair, and positioning the braid. Then he was out the door and gone.

Rob and I figured if we rejigged our budgets, we could get Jake back maybe once a month, and we set it up with Jake to be back. But Jake had to bail, a first time and a second time, and then when hunting season hit, he did not reply, a third and fourth inquiry unanswered.

But Jake did keep us as 'matched buddies' on Squirt - that was how Jake said he kept track of his clients.

Rob died in the late Spring. A note from his daughter that, no longer able to speak, Rob wanted me to know how much he had appreciated our friendship. I week or so before that, thinking the unthinkable, I had messaged him that no matter for what he may be going through, I wanted him to know how much I valued him as a friend, enjoying his company.

Rob had topped me, but I had never been able to top him. Even for all of the times we had been together, I could not really get it up, let alone get it up to keep it up. So he topped and I bottomed.

But now, more recently, there have been stirrings 'down below', a tumescence exerting itself, and I had begun to think maybe, just maybe, - not ramrod hard, but hard enough maybe - I could actually think about being able to fuck a man.

I emailed Jake, laying it out, saying I could make it worth his while if he would work with being my bottom, me as a top, giving him my phone number.

'I think I could do that,' he said, phoning me. We talked, settled a few fine points, and we set the date.

'Hot dog!,' I said to myself, off the phone, 'I am going to be fucking Jake!'

Getting off the elevator, as before, 6'4", filling the door, he is one beautiful piece of humanity. A little older, maybe, still lean, muscular, smoldering raw, sexual masculinity.

Stripping off his leathers, and unlacing the red leather jock strap, paying him, naked, I am coming up harder than I remember in a long, long time. Counting the bills, handling my cock, he is amused, - "So you're up for it," he smiles, directing me to the bedroom.

Pulling me onto the bed, - "A bit of foreplay, just to warm things up", he says, - his palm on my belly, and signaling me that he is up for some cuddling. I am thrilled - to be this close to him, to be taking advantage of this opportunity to be running my fingers through his belly hair, the hair on his chest, and up and down his legs, feeling out the firmness and strength in his pecs, and abs, and arms. "Get your money's worth," he says.

I am in seventh heaven, to be this close, up tight with this magnificent sample of muscular masculinity, his fur rough to my cheek, my nose full of his manscent.

And I am thrilled, doubly so, that, 'fluffing' me up, I am coming up in more than passable arousal -- maybe not the raging boner I could once boast, but just possibly more than adequate to do the job.

"So maybe we should get to the main event?" he says, and I feel a further surge of arousal.

"Covered, or not covered?" he eyes me. But before I can reply, "First time for you, let's go bare," he says. "Lube?" he asks. "On the nightstand," I reply. He squeezes out a blob on my fingers.

"Go for it," he says, and I surprise myself with a sudden take-charge "On your back, big guy, mission position." - though, I realize, I shouldn't be surprised -- I am paying good money for this privilege. He lays back on the bed, submissive, knowing what is expected of him, and raises his legs, heels up on my shoulders, spreading them. "Been nothing up there for a while,' he says, "I'm gonna like this as much as you!"

And, brown-puckered, there it is - waiting on me to penetrate it. I finger it. "Oh, yes," he exclaims, "Yes, yes, yes," - as I follow it with a second, then the third finger, stretching his hole, feeling it beginning to relax, then feeling it gripping my fingers, and me probing inside. Then, "Go for it," he says, "I'm ready for it."

Guiding my cock with one hand, he puts me right on the hole - "Get it in," he says. I push, and penetrate him.

And looking down at it, seeing the length of my cock disappearing in his hole, I realize I am fucking him.

"Keep it coming," he says," just keep it coming." I push and keep pushing. "Fuck me," I hear him. "Fuck me. Keep it coming.'

I am pushing. Gliding in. Penetrating him further and further. "Fuck me, he says, 'Oh, fuck me. Keep it coming." Now his ass is not only letting me in, but, groaning, he is pulling me in. Pulling me deeper and deeper, grinding hips and pelvis around and around, burrowing me inside him.

'Oh, gawd, yes,' I am saying to myself, 'Gawd, yes,' 'This is all I could imagine it to be, all I could have imagined it could be.' I am deep inside him, and thrusting, deeper, and deeper, fucking him, and fucking him, and fucking him.

Then, now gripping his hands around my hips, - 'Wow, whew," - he shoots out a breath, "Yes. Oh, yes!" "Prostate," he says, "You're hitting my prostate!" "Oh, wow. Wow, wow, wow!"

'I'm fucking him, I am really fucking him,' I am saying to myself, 'I am fucking this magnificent animal that I have in my bed, beneath me, fucking him in my bed.' 'Oh, gawd, yes! I am fucking him!' Probing him, deeper and deeper.

Then, "Oh, oh, oh, oh,.. take it a bit easier," he says. "You're a big guy, and you're banging up against my second hole."

I pull back.

"Don't stop," he said, "just take it a little bit easier." "For the moment," he says.

Then, bumping and grinding, it's like he is working me even deeper and deeper into him, into his inner self, until, - "Yes!" -- followed by a long expiration. I sensed I was into a new part of him open. "Now, go deep, as deep as you can go," he was saying, and he is pulling me in, way inside him. It was now like he had gotten a second wind, and I had opened into a new part of him to be explored.

It is heaven.

I am fucking him. I am into him as far as I can get into him, and he is still wanting more.

And then, stirring in my guts, gonads agonizing, I know I am not going to be long. Now, almost involuntarily, banging him, rutting him, thrust after thrust after thrust, both of us grunting, sharply, until, suddenly, - nirvana -, I am spewing all I have into him. I'm over the top, - nutting, - shooting all that I can feel out of me, into him. And his is, eagerly, accepting it, absorbing it.

Then, humping me, riding me, I knew something was happening, and with a long, primal exhortation, he is blowing his load, ejaculation and ejaculation after ejaculation, creaming his belly, his chest, and throat.

Then, convulsing, his legs suddenly straight out, he is ejecting me, and I am out of him. My arms now around his body, pulling him tight to me. Holding him. And suddenly shivering. Both of us. He and I. Quivering. Both of us. Shuddering. Wave over wave, abating.

I lay there, cherishing the moment. A long moment. Almost an eternity.

Then, coming aware, I feel him next to me, bathed in sweat. And I realize I am likewise dripping wet, both of us, drenched in our exertion. His body hair is glistening, And I can smell him, dank, musky.

"Fuck, man," he says, finally, breaking the spell. "I wasn't ready for that."

Then more emphatically, "Fuck, man, I was not ready for that!"

"And this was your first time in the saddle", he said to me, appreciatively.

"Beginner or no beginner, you sure know how to fuck a guy."

"And you didn't think you were up to it!" he snorts.

Me, I am ecstatic.

I have fucked a man.

And he had gone for it.

In the bathroom, helping him to clean up, his cheeks spread open, I see a translucent ooze, leaking out from his hole, dribbling down between his pucker and his scrotum.

Semen.

Spunk.

'My spunk,' I am realizing, 'my jizz, my 'manjuice' running out of Jake's ass, and slithering down his leg.

And with it the heady realization that I have indeed fucked him. I have fucked Jake. Fucked him, fucked him good, fucked him hard, and made him mine.

At the door, as he is leaving, I smack his ass. Not hard, but hard enough. Started, he stiffens, then a fleeting recognition and acquiescence. Then the elevator door opens, and he is gone.

'I've got him,' the voice in my head tells me, 'Mine. He's mine.'

Now alone, his man-scent still hangs in the room, and in the bedroom, layering with it, I take in the heavy, pungent, almost fetid, malodourous smell permeating the room -- the smell of man-sex, of two men, naked, sweating, grunting, having at each other, snorting, besting each other, copulating. Fucking.

"You can't say you are a man until you have fucked a man," my inner voice is saying. And, smiling, I acknowledge that indeed 'I have fucked a man.' No matter it was for a purchased hour, I had fucked a man.

And what a man. Jake. A stud. A fucking stud.

I felt like I was the king of the jungle. Powerful, pleased and proud of myself.

And Rob too, I think, would be pleased.