Christ, I can’t believe it was that long ago, already…seems like yesterday.
OK, let me elaborate. It was a Friday afternoon, and I got a phone call from an acquaintance, asking if I wanted to check out a concert that night, in a city a couple of hours away from here. I was up for it; I was just finishing off the last of my dissertation, and could use a break. I told her I’d meet her at a coffee shop near the venue.
I got there, and waited. And waited. Finally, the girl working there came over and asked my name, then said she’d got a call, it was someone named Laura and she said she was sorry, but she wouldn’t be able to make it. No surprise there; Laura was one of the flakiest people I’d ever known. She probably had some brand new best friend to impress or something. Oh well, what the fuck, I probably would have ended up paying her admission to the show anyway…
I was only a few blocks away from where some friends of mine lived, so I decided to stop by and say hi before I headed back. I grew up in the same neighborhood as these guys, and knew that the welcome mat was always out. Angelo and Mario Carrillo were my next door neighbors after their family moved out west from Montreal, and were a riot to be around. They brought a whole culture with them, and everyone knew that friends of the Carrillo boys were untouchable, and, well, you didn’t want to be on their bad side.
I got to their place and found the door wide open, and a poker game going on in the kitchen. No surprise there; these guys had hosting poker games down to an art. There was always plenty of food and beer, and they were extremely shrewd when it came to how much they won from their guests. Someone always left with a lot more than they showed up with, and everyone else would lose a bit, but the Carrillos would always come out ahead. I’d seen them doing this since we were in junior high, and the group of young blue collar guys laughing and drinking around the kitchen table had no idea that they were being fleeced.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in! Ang! It’s fuckin’ Mikey!” Mario got up and threw his arms around me as Angie came out of the bathroom and spotted me, then started spouting off in Italian; something about wondering if he smelled something rotten, but it was just some freakin’ Mick. He brought me a beer and wrung my hand for what seemed like an hour, asking about my mom and school and the neighborhood and everything else. I hadn’t seen these guys for a while, and it was good to see them. Mario introduced me to the rest of the guys in the room; they were their neighbors from across the alley and worked for some excavation outfit. Their boss was also there, a guy named Rob, late forties, a big dude, really built, and smart enough to not be sitting at the table with his crew. After exchanging pleasantries, the Carrillos got the game back on track, and told Rob and I to help ourselves to whatever we wanted, which was a spread of antipasto in the dining room, a fridge full of beer, and as much Montreal hashish as we wanted.
“So, Rob, not a gambler, then?”, I casually mentioned while giving the Carrillos a sidelong glance. Rob kind of grinned knowingly and shook his head.
“Not really in the, uh, mood, y’know.” Yeah, I knew, and decided to just let the boys do their thing.
Rob and I really hit it off, and were talking away as if we’d known each other for years. We had a lot of things in common, and it seemed like he’d really needed to just relax and unwind with someone who actually listened to what he had to say. He was married, though he didn’t seem too interested in elaborating on that subject, but was happy to talk about photography and rock climbing and vintage sports cars. After a few beers, I started to wonder if I should plan on staying in the city overnight, or coffee up and head home. At one point, Rob got up to take a leak, and I headed out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air. A few seconds later, Ang came out and lit up a smoke.
“Fuck, it’s good to see you, man, I miss the old neighborhood.” he said with his serious Italian barber look on. “Oh, hey, I got something for you, it’s the very last of it, and I couldn’t think of anyone who’d enjoy it more.” He pulled a little glass bottle out of his pocket, and told me to hold out my hand. I did , and he carefully turned the bottle into my palm and deposited a tiny purple pill into it.
“Where the fuck did you get THAT?” I asked him with a bit of surprise. There was a time when we spent a far amount of time amusing ourselves with LSD in the old neighborhood, and I’d done my share in university after that. I’d always enjoyed it, but after a while I just didn’t have the time or inclination, or the right people to do it with.
“Hey, part of a deal me and Mario had going. The chemist has retired though, so you are holding the last of it, my friend. Do it whenever you want, fuck, you can crash here if you want.”
“Well, no time like the present!” I popped the hit into my mouth, not having to worry about a place to hang out or pass out once I came down. Ang just smiled and headed back inside, telling me to enjoy the ride…
I sat back down and Rob came back into the living room and tossed me another beer. I thought about doing another bit of hash, but it would be a waste of time if the acid was any good, which it no doubt would be. I cracked the beer and Rob started telling me about some of the machinery he had at home in his garage. I told him that I’d have to check it out next time I was in town, but then he told me that he only lived a couple of blocks away, and he wanted to get his truck home before he drank any more. Good plan; I wasn’t too interested in watching a poker game anyway.
We got over to Rob’s place, and man, he had some of the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. A track prepped Datsun 240Z with a 302 Chev engine and M-22 transmission, a John Player Special Norton Commando, a pair of Sunbeam Tigers, one a super clean original, and a rough parts car. The walls were lined with amazing photographs; Rob a few years younger and dangling off of an outcrop on Mt. McKinley, killer skydiving shots, and a photo of Rob in the pits at Laguna Seca with some guy in a race suit that looked a lot like….
“Yeah, that’s Paul Newman”, Rob offered up. “We had camped near the track, and security back then was pretty lax. I walked over to the track and into the pits really early in the morning. A couple of guys came over to me and asked if I could give them a hand pulling out some bent sheetmetal. We got it pulled and tweaked to the point that it looked half decent and the tire wouldn’t rub on it, and they thanked me for the help and asked if I had breakfast yet. Other than a can of warm Coke and a Slim Jim, I hadn’t, so we went into their trailer, and there was Paul Newman, cooking up a mess of bacon and eggs on a Coleman camp stove. Real nice guy, just a regular Joe. Fucking good driver, too.”
This was a fucking rush, and I couldn’t tell if it was from being in the middle of this amazing collection of stuff, or if I was starting to get a buzz from the acid, or both. Rob suggested we go into the house and crack some more cold ones. I was up for that, I was pretty thirsty, and was really enjoying his company.
We went down into his basement where the walls were lined with even more incredible photos. The beer was flowing easy by this point, but Rob was catching a lot more of a buzz from the brews than I was, and he started to open up a bit about his marriage. I could see the way he was gritting his teeth when he talked about her, and the fact that he was enjoying the simple pleasure of having attention being paid to him, just having someone enjoying his company.
“You know, the thing that gets me is that she thinks I’m fucking oblivious to the fact that she’s out fucking around. I mean, I know who the guy is, how long it’s been going on, everything. I don’t even give a shit. But I fucking hate being treated like an idiot.” He looked at me and shrugged. I glanced over at a photo of her on the wall. She was not bad looking, but no beauty queen; one of those fake looking, interchangable suburban wives who wound up being spoiled by someone they didn’t deserve. I looked back at Rob and suddenly realized that I had a serious rush building. He had no idea that I’d dropped acid. The conversation continued, Rob vented a little more. Out of nowhere, I could feel my prick starting to harden. My buzz was intensifying exponentially, and I really started to feel like there was a lot more than just a conversation going on here.
I looked him in the eye. “So, where is she right now, Rob?”
“She told me that she was at some sort of trade convention, some job thing. She’s not.”
“Well it sounds to me like you could really benefit from having your cock sucked…..” I couldn’t fucking believe I’d said that. I’d never had anything to do with another guy before, but this insane buzz had opened up something inside of me that just let me say what had to be said. I looked at Rob, somehow knowing that I’d said the right thing.
“Is that an offer, or are you suggesting that we walk down to the pub and pick up a couple of drunk girls?” Rob had this interesting smirk on his face, and I thought it was really cute, the way he’d given me an out, if that hadn’t been my intent.
“It’s an offer, Rob.” I stood and pulled my shirt off, the sensation of cool air on my flesh driving my rush even harder. I unzipped my pants and pulled them off, my prick incredibly stiff, throbbing into an even more engorged state as I saw his cock swelling inside of his jeans. It was as though I was watching myself from outside of my body as I started pulling on my aching cock, jacking myself off violently as the LSD rush continued to build within me. He squirmed in his chair, staring at my prick as I thrashed it faster and harder. I could feel my balls tighten, my prick feeling as if it would split open. All I wanted to do was to pump my load out for him, and as he rubbed his bulging crotch I came all over his glass topped coffee table. I got on my knees, licking up my own cum like the dirty fucking cocksucker I was about to become….
I crawled across the carpet to where he was sitting, fixated on the throbbing bulge in his pants. I looked into his eyes, unbuttoning his Levis with my teeth. The scent of his cock filled my nose, turning my prick rock hard again. I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pulled them, and his underwear down around his ankles. I could feel my heart pounding, hear the blood rushing through my veins as I took his huge, beautiful prick into my hands. I was beginning to peak on the acid, my mind suddenly falling in love with his long foreskin as I brought it to my lips and sucked it into my mouth. I was overcome with the most delicious, musky flavor I’d ever experienced as I drew his prick deeper into my mouth, pulling his foreskin back and exposing his pulsing glans to my tongue. Another intense wave of the acid rush hit me, and all that existed in the world was the penis I now held in my mouth. I sucked in my cheeks and started to slowly move my head up and down on this glorious prick, the deep moans coming from it’s owner driving me harder, making me want to swallow it all as I drew it to the back of my throat….
A billon things rushed through my mind in an instant; I was now a Cocksucker, no different than the neighborhood sluts of my youth, on my knees licking the sweaty funk from a man’s penis, taking his balls into my mouth and sliding my tongue into his asshole. He was moaning wildly, and I slowly took his prick into the depths of my throat, my gag reflex reduced to an amusing tickle as I could feel my throat bulge around this throbbing, living entity. I slipped into an even deeper state of consciousness. It was as if I was on display to the universe, unashamed to be seen with my mouth stretched open and my throat filled like a whore. I felt my lips against the root of his prick, my body feeling like a cutaway out of an anatomy text, displaying the human throat while deep throating a large, erect penis. I was intensely aware of every vein and tendon and cell that made up his prick, entranced by the enormity of what I held in my mouth. I could feel him moving around in his chair, momentarily distracted. I looked up, and saw him focusing a camera on me…….
As if the intensity of the situation hadn’t been enough, the images of what his camera was now capturing were racing through my mind. I now saw myself in the same light as the hundreds of women I’d seen in porno mags and movies. I could see every picture I’d ever seen of cocks being sucked, how some women looked so fucking lame and lethargic while giving head, and others were crazy for it; the look in their eyes wild as they had their mouths pumped with semen. I was one of those at this moment. A full-on cumslut, absolutely absorbed in the act of sucking cock, selfishly drawing it into my throat while Rob could barely keep it together enough to keep photographing the face of the dirty fucking cumrag on his knees in front of him. I could feel his balls tighten and release as a stream of pre-cum flowed into my whore mouth. As much as I wanted to have my throat and mouth pumped full of another man’s semen, I never wanted the sensation of having this huge, vein covered monster that I was sucking to end. I pulled his cock nearly all the way out of my mouth, drawing the skin from the base of it upwards so that his foreskin piled up high on top of his incredible penis.
“So, tell me, Rob, has your wife ever sucked your cock like this?” I looked into the camera lens, making love to his delicious foreskin with my tongue. He shook his head; no. I knew he’d never had his cock sucked so well, and rode an incredible wave of satisfaction as I reached down to stroke my own cock, only to find that I’d been ejaculating spontaneously. I scooped up a handful of my own cum and stroked his long shaft with it while swirling my tongue around the head of his cock. I could feel him gasping as he once again neared orgasm. I pulled his prick from my mouth, sucking his foreskin between my teeth and biting down hard enough to see the waves of sweet agony crossing his face. The acid rush had levelled off, the significance of the moment overwhelming as I started to slide my mouth up and down the shaft of his cock, his moans turning to desperate wails of sweet torture, begging me to let him come. I took his prick in both hands, stroking it slowly as I cradled the head of it in my mouth, again swirling my tongue around it as again I could feel him throbbing towards orgasm. I started stroking it faster, sucking the head of it harder and harder until there was no turning back. I hung on that moment for what seemed an eternity; a man was about to ejaculate in my mouth. I could feel it flowing up his prick, and pinched down hard at the base of his glans to keep him from coming, hanging him on the edge of this mad agony until he screamed out, begging me to let him come in my mouth. I released my grip and slid my mouth over his cock, sucking as hard as I possibly could. I felt my mouth fill with semen, the acid rush aware of every sperm cell travelling down my throat as I kept swallowing and swallowing. It seemed as if it would never end. As I wondered how long it had been since Rob had come last, I could feel the first fuzzy sensations of coming down. I lay my head on his thigh, slowly feeling his beautiful cock softening as I kept it in my mouth, hanging on to the rush of sucking his cock as long as I could.
In a few minutes, we were again chatting and sipping brews. I had lost all track of time, and it turned out that I’d been sucking Rob’s cock for nearly two hours. It seemed that he’d had a huge weight lifted from his shoulders, and he was exhausted, in the best way possible. I could see that he wasn’t far from nodding off, so we swapped phone numbers and I made my way back towards the Carrillo’s place. The sky was just starting to turn a stunning Chinese blue as dawn crept forward, and I decided to just walk the empty suburban streets, breathing in the clean air as the events of the evening started to sink in. I found myself at the coffee shop where I was supposed to meet that chick, Laura, the day before. I was their first customer of the day. I walked back to Angie and Mario’s place, where the poker game was just ending.
“Hey, man, that was decent of you to hang with Rob last night. That poor fucker is going through some nasty shit with his wife lately, he really needed someone to hang out with and get his mind off things.” Mario handed me a plate of pastries, adding, “You always had a way with helping people sort out their shit, Mike. Did you still want to crash here, or you headin’ back?”
“Nah, I think I’ll head back, take the back roads, grab some breakfast on the way. It was good to see you guys. I’ll make sure it isn’t so long until the next time. By the way, Ang, the ‘cid was sublime, thanks, I owe you one.”
“Fahgetaboutit!”
I did see the Carrillos a lot more after that. A couple of months later, Mario called and told me that Rob had put his foreman in charge of the company, and he’d moved to the coast to start another operation in some nice retirement town. He’d taken all his cars and bikes and stuff out and left the keys to the house in the door and left his wife, leaving a note that made her aware that he’d known all about what she’d been up to the whole time.
I saw him a few times over the years; he’d met a great girl, Gretchen, who was a triathlete and they spent a lot of time travelling the world, and once a year or so I’d get a postcard from some incredible place. Then, about six months back, I recieved a letter from his gal, telling me he’d been killed in a climbing accident. There was a ticket to the coast included in the letter. It seemed there was something he’d been pretty adamant I should have….
Gretchen picked me up at the airport and we drove back to their home. We talked for hours about their life together, and it seemed that he’d been really grateful that he’d met me; that his life made a one eighty the night we’d hung out. Finally, Gretchen took out a package and handed it to me, and asked me to follow her out to the garage. Once we were out there, she handed me a set of keys, and opened the door.
“Rob really wanted you to have this”, Gretchen said as the light flooded into the garage, revealing the Norton Commando that had knocked me out all those years ago. “He said that there weren’t many people left who could appreciate machines like this.” We filled out some paperwork, and fired it up. Turns out his helmet and jacket fit me well. I bid farewell to Gretchen and headed east toward the Rockies, the photos Rob had taken of me tucked safely in my jacket, the Norton devouring the miles, as it was meant to…