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Alexander The Great

Alexander the Great

Men on the Moon

It was going to be a wasted summer. It was 1969, the height of the decade which didn't actually end until the oil crunch in 1973. I'll never forget the night the whole party ended, and just as a matter of personal bookmarks, it was when Tricky Dick Nixon came on the tube and told us to drive 55 miles-an-hour to save fuel.

I almost got killed the next morning trying to do it, run down by angry white guys in big cars on the expressway going to the mall.

Then it was Disco, and coke, that is about all I remember of the fabulous 80's.

But at the end of the 1960s there were music festivals, and loud music and I was going to be off to college soon. I was interested in the concepts of the Age of Aquarius, though I hadn't seen much of it in the mid-western town I found myself stuck in.

My toes were tapping. I wanted to get on with life.

I missed my pals, and I missed being around the Big City. My family had moved because of my Dad's reassignment. I was now in a suburb around an old brick city filled with the descendents of the hardy block-headed Dutch who populated this part of the state. It was staid and boring.

On the upside, it was easy to get alcohol. On the downside there was nobody to drink it with. I had passable fake ID and it was not hard to get a six pack to drink in the field out in back of the house. And of course there were the racks of Dad's home-made wine.

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Another Naturalman Fantasy

I was horny, and knew it was time for another fantasy about a guy I'd met on the Internet Chat. This was Bob, who goes by the handle "Naturalman" because he's uncut, like me. I lay back in my recliner, closed my eyes, and... We'd again met in a motel room in a city where we had both gone on business. He was already naked when I arrived, and I looked down and saw his beautiful uncut prick arcing down over his tight balls, slowly swelling in anticipation of what was to come. I removed my clothes, dropping them on the floor, and we lay facing each other on the bed. His fingers rolled the long nipple of my foreskin, making the head slide around inside its ample hood. The gentle tickling feeling made my prick swell to its full six inches, the big helmet bulging under the covering skin. I pinched Bob's cock-head through the skin, feeling its sponginess harden under my fingers. Bob's hard-on was almost as long as mine, and about the same shape, the large, flaring head showing its outlines clearly through the covering skin. I began edging the tight hood back slowly, as I liked doing to mine, because I knew that stretching the foreskin's nerve endings slowly was very erotic. A gush of lube poured out over my fingers, because Bob wets much more than I do. I have just enough clear lube to lubricate my long tight foreskin and make retraction easy, the smooth, sliding feeling stabbing into my nerve endings. "I like the way you lube," I said. "You've got a lot more than I do." "Glad you like it," he said, as he stretched my tight hood back over my flaring, tapering glans. I recalled the way my old friend Ron lubed, a steady stream pouring out over his cock-head as I caressed it. Ron had been circumcised tightly, and the copious lubrication made his dry, leathery head shiny and slippery as I stroked it. Ron had told me he particularly enjoyed having my hand twisting around the skin between his ridge and the thick brown scar on his shaft. Bob and I had had a natural attraction towards each other from the first day we'd chatted on Club Stroke because although we both liked cocks, we felt more comfortable with uncut guys who knew how to handle foreskins. Cut guys didn't seem to know what to do with an intact prick, usually just skinning them back and massaging the head. They didn't know the exquisite feeling produced by a tongue probing under the foreskin, caressing the ridge and the deep groove behind it. I'd also discovered that cut pricks didn't have that delicious masculine odor natural ones had. That's why I was happy that Bob had that lovely sleeve of skin covering his luscious glans. Keeping it moist and tender. Now I skinned Bob back all the way, watching fascinated as his big shiny purple helmet came into view, almost a duplicate of mine. The most beautiful part of a man is the prick, and the most beautiful part of the prick is the head, with its compound curves and flaring ridge. Bob's ridge was shiny and deep purple, like mine. Instead of a teardrop shaped hole, though, he had a long pouting slit, lips parted with drops of cock-dew. I inhaled the musky male odor, somewhat different from mine. I'd always enjoyed smelling my cock, running a finger under my hood and bringing it to my nose. Because of our differing body chemistries, Bob's cock smelled somewhat different from mine, and the foreign odor was very exciting. "Your prick smells nice," he said, and I knew he felt the same way about pricks different from his. I ran my fingertip in small circles around his slit, stimulating the nerve endings and making him moan in delight. Bob's cock-head, shiny and tender, was a lot more sensitive than Ron's had been, because it was covered and kept moist by Bob's long pendulous foreskin. Right now, it was bared and ready for action. The dark purple ridge was ready for my caresses. His fingers pulled my foreskin all the way back behind the ridge, and I felt a throb in my cock-root as the tight hood snapped into the deep grove behind my glans. The tight roll of skin was like a tourniquet, keeping the blood in the head and making it turn darker purple. The light tickle in my shaft confirmed that a drop of lube was crawling up my tube, and a moment later it filled the hole at the end. Bob spread the juice in small circles around my hole, as I'd done to him moments before. The nerve endings in my glans vibrated with joy, making me shiver with delight, and I was glad that I, too, had a long thick hood to keep the cock-head tender and moist. I began pumping his hardness, drawing the long sheath up and over the big head, then skinning it all the way back in long strokes the way I knew he enjoyed. He squeezed my prick around the base, constricting the veins and making the glossy glans swell and bulge even more. The color changed to deeper purple, especially around the swollen rim. Now Bob began sliding my foreskin forward, enveloping the big helmet, until the hood formed a pucker in front. He pulled on my pucker, stretching my skin out as far as it would go, showing the outline of the helmet underneath. Now he drew it back, slowly working it over the contours of my hot glans until it rode over the flaring ridge and snapped into the groove behind. He worked his way down my body, and probed my teardrop with his tongue. I scooted into a "69" with him, pulling his foreskin forward and working my tongue into his opening, probing underneath and working it back to the rim. I ran my tongue-tip around his rim, ending up under the head, where his sensitive gee-string and its many sensitive nerve endings lay. Slowly, I peeled back his hood, and strummed his exposed gee-string with my tongue tip. A gush of juice poured out onto my tongue, and I heard him go "AH-AH-AH Jack!" as the sensations hit him with full force. I tightened my grip and pulled his skin back harder, putting tension on his gee-string, which dragged his head down towards his balls. I felt his fingers tighten around my shaft as he pulled my foreskin all the way back, stretching my gee-string as well, and I felt my head dipping under the tension. His tongue-tip worked around and into my hole, and I gasped his name; "Bob, Bob, Bob," as the sensations mounted in my hot cock. "Let's stop for a sec," I suggested, and swiveled around to face him. "Want to come first?" I asked. "Okay, if it's all right with you," he replied. I resumed pumping his prick, twisting the hood on the up stroke and twisting the other way as I skinned his beautiful prick back again. My cock was within his reach as he lay flat on the bed enjoying the delicious sensations, and I felt his fingers clasp it. I knew touching my prick aroused him, as touching his did me. I watched his face as his sensations mounted, and I saw his eyes close as the biological storm neared. His cock throbbed in my encircling fingers, and I knew he was close. I was too, and knew that I might not be able to control myself when he came. The sight and feel of his orgasm might push me over the edge. As I peeled his hood back, I saw that his cock-head had darkened, just like mine, and that the back face of his rim was dark purple, almost black, again like mine does just before coming. I stroked him forward again, and he said; "Man, it's nice having a really long foreskin. You can take such long strokes with it." I pulled his hood forward again, covering the head and forming a pucker in front. Now I peeled it back to bare the excited swollen head again, and this time I kept it back so that his glans could expand fully during the final swelling. He was very close, and I jiggled his skin, bumping it against the back of the ridge, then pulling back hard to make the head dip. A steady stream of juice flowed from his orifice, down over my hot encircling fingers as I worked his prick. I felt a hard throb as Bob grunted, and a long stream of hot semen erupted from the slit, parting the lips as it shot through. "Jack, Jack, Jack," he cried out in agonized ecstasy as his orgasm overwhelmed him. His cock pumped jets of white cream ten inches into the air as I pumped it frantically, giving him long strokes that tugged the head down before returning and covering the swollen head with his hot, slippery foreskin. My fingers slipped off his skin and wrapped themselves around the hot, throbbing head. I quickly twisted my fist around the sensitive glans, making him cry out again and again as he emptied himself. His hips thrust upward, driving his cock through my fist. I prick was hot and hard, and I consciously tried to relax as his hot cock pumped in my hand. I barely avoided exploding as he finished his orgasm and began to relax. "Man, that was hot, really hot!" he exclaimed. "Now you come for me." He grasped my swollen hardness and began pumping my hood rapidly back and forth in the same long strokes I'd used on him. I felt my cock responding, and my cock-root lurched as his other hand cupped my balls. I was flat on the bed, enjoying the thrills his hot fingers sent through me, and I felt my cock-head become all tingly, first in the rim, then all over. He skinned my foreskin back hard, baring the head, then bumping the ridge. As the ring of skin bumped my ridge again and again, I felt myself slipping over the edge. A white-hot explosion wrenched my cock-root, and I writhed in sensation, crying out "Oh, Bob, Bob, Bob." A rush of burning lava shot up my shaft, exploding out the tip, but my eyes were now closed in ecstasy and I didn't see it. My cock throbbed hotly in his hand as jet after jet of burning juice poured up my tube and out the end. I was in the grip of a mind-numbing orgasm, totally unaware of anything except the warm hand around my throbbing cock and the delicious sensations that filled my body. My cock was throbbing and tingling, and I was helpless in his hands as hot cream gushed from my body. I opened my eyes to see my hard prick oozing its last drops of white juice all over the paper towels I'd laid on my stomach. My fingers were still lightly stroking the hood, pushing the last droplets of cream up the tube and out of the end.

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Alpha Top Turned Bitch

Comments are appreciated.i want to be used like this someday.

there is one Alpha Top in las vegas that i know and have served online a few times.he is 22, 6', dark hair.he talked of taking me out to bars, collared and plugged, made to serve him like his bitch and slave in public.

he had me fuck myself and clean off plugs with my mouth, drink my own piss, and perform for him on cam.he was so authoritative that i never had any doubt to obey him.he is mad at me and considers me worthless because i did disobey an order recently.he wanted me to shave my head to show that i was serious about serving him.i couldn't do that because of work and my boyfriend, i wouldn't be able to explain.I regret displeasing him.

in my fantasy, he takes me out to a bar, collared and in jeans with no shirt.he makes me kneel on the floor next to him as he drinks his beer and allows me to drink some straight from his mouth as he spits it into mine.he leaves to go to piss into a glass for me to drink and while he is gone you come in and come up to me.you see me kneeling there and decide that you are gonna take me as yours for the night.

when my Master comes back with the glass full of his piss, you are there rubbing my face in your crotch and then make me bend down to kiss and lick your shoes.he sets down the piss and tells you that you are messing with his bitch and you don't have permission to use his property.i stop and you kick me and tell me that you didn't give me any new orders and that i should continue to do what i was last told until a new instruction is given.i return to licking your shoes and my Master grabs me by the collar and yanks me up.he calls me a stupid disloyal faggot and spits in my face.then he shoves you away to dismiss you.

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Adventures On Bicycle

Ride One

Since my work load at the office had decreased a great deal I decided to go for a long early morning bike ride and arrive a little late for work.My route took me through a park and at 5:00 in the morning I didn't expect to see anyone out.Well as luck would have it, there were a couple of other bicyclist coming from the opposite direction.

One was a very handsome tall black dude wearing a very bright spandex biking suit and obvious he was not wearing any supports. The other fellow,who was white, looked like he just came off of a construction sight, wearing levi shorts.As they rode by me, they both stared withnice smiles on their faces.I continued riding by them and as they got past me, I turn around to look at them again.They also had turned around, and they still had that pleasant smile.I gave a little whistle, and kept riding.I just hoped that they didn't hear me whistle.In a couple of minutes I heard a whistle behind me and I turn around, it was that handsome black dude.He asked if I was in a hurry and I said: "No, why?"Then I saw the other cyclist come up right behind him and he sure looked hot.His shorts seemed to have got a little larger in the front.It looked like he had a bulging rod that was waiting to get out. They asked if I would like to go with them for a little ride.With a feeling in my shorts that said yes, I said: "Yeah!".

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After The Party

I think its safe to say that teenage boys are always horny...even more so if they've been drinking. At least I know I was when I was that age! So sit right back and enjoy another tale of my misspent youth!

I always considered myself straight but I found out early on that a piece of ass is a piece of ass. I also discovered, after a brief stint locked up in juvy, that gay black boys can be `loads' of fun...heh heh heh.

In the small town in Ohio where I grew up, late May and early June meant one thing: graduation parties. For most of the kids where I lived, that meant endless partying.Parents and cops both tended to look the other way. It was just another ritual...and the world wasn't as crazy as it is now. Most nights there would be 3-4 parties..., which, at least for me, meant LOTS & LOTS of drinking.

One night as I left a party, I was walking through the downtown section and saw a group of black guys hanging out on the corner. I recognized them as the `openly gay bunch' from school. A little back-story might help here: It was the early 1980s and pretty much no one was "out"...except these guys. They were flamboyant as a Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans. They would often wear girls jeans, jelly shoes, etc. In retrospect, these guys were ahead of their time!

Having just come from my third party of the night, I was pretty hammered and I was horny as hell. My friend's sister was flirting with me pretty hard at the party but we all knew she was just a tease. I thought my balls would explode if I didn't get some kind of release soon.

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An Ill Wind

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, is accidental and unintended. The story is for reading by, and only by, persons 18 or older.

"National Service" is what the authorities prefer to call it; but compulsory military service is what is really is.Liable to call-up in the first intake after the 18th birthday.Liable to serve for six unbroken months.No say over where the training is done.No say over who gets to be in the same hut for the six months.

Put thirteen 18-year old boys into that situation and sooner or later someone is going to get up to some serious mischief.Ban lap-tops, ipods and, worst of all, mobile phones and serious mischief will almost certainly turn into a cocktail of horseplay, boredom and sex.Add in the fact that tonight is the highlight of the whole 6 months because tomorrow morning it's all over and everyone goes back to life as usual in the real world, and that cocktail has reached what a winemaker would call its "optimum drinking time".

As one such 18 year-old was now finding out at first hand.


The confined area of the inside of the hut seemed to make everything larger than life: the writhing bodies; the hubbub of voices, kept down barely enough to avoid attracting unwanted official interest from outside the hut; the smell of sweat; and the unmistakable atmosphere of raw sexual excitement.

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After The Fight

Fight Night by Johnny Murdoc www.johnnymurdoc.com

Cutter is sitting on the bench, naked, when I step into the locker room. His eyes are off, focusing on something other than the room he's in, and they don't change when I step in front of him. He gets like this before a fight. He's wet, still sweaty from his warmup. Moments before, he would have been bouncing around, his bare feet hopping on the concrete floor. His fists making jabs at invisible enemies in the air.

Next to him, on the bench: hand wraps, trunks, jock strap and cup, socks.

I can't help but look at his penis, limp between his legs. A dark brown next to his light brown skin. I'm drawn to it, time and time again. I imagine it pulsing lightly with his heartbeat.

I imagine touching it.

"It's almost time to go," I say, and he looks up at me. Not recognizing me, instantly. His eyes focus. He's seen me hundreds of times. We've worked out together. Trained together. Shared a beer together.

"Will you help me wrap my hands?" he asks.

"Sure," I say.

He stands up, reaching for the handwraps on the bench. He hands them to me, and holds his hand out. I can feel his warmth, the heat rushing out of his body.

I've been the assistant trainer here for a few years now. I've done this dozens, if not hundreds, of times.

Each strap has a loop at the end, and I slip one around his thumb. The cloth strap goes over the back of his hand, and then under his wrist. Around the wrist twice, and then over the back of his hand. Under his hand, over his knuckles, twice. Cross back over his hand, toward his wrist. This is a ritual.Repeat the cross over the back of his hand, and then around his palm to the base of his thumb. Back around the wrist. This is our ritual. Around the thumb, this time form the opposite direction. Around the wrist again. Over the back of the hand, and in between the pinky and ring finger. Crisscross around the base of the hand, and between each finger. Around the wrist, and crossed over the back of the hand, twice, layering an X-pattern. Wrap the excess cloth around the wrist.

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