Bath House Give and Take

[Guest GoodExercise]

I watched the pretty little cunt parallel park a brand new Mercedes SUV with temporary tags on a side street one block north of Steamworks in Chicago. The plate surround was for a dealership in a wealthy northern suburb. The bumper was already anointed with a My Child Is An Honor Student sticker from a high school that serves the over-privileged children of rich suburbanites. It was the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday; a perfect time to find an unrestricted parking space – no meter, no ban on evening parking. The boy took almost 10 minutes to park in a space that was big enough for a school bus. I sat in my Jeep Wrangler and waited for him to finish parking so that I could get into the space behind his.

I pulled my Wrangler alongside the Mercedes and looked through his driver’s window; definitely a cute, dirty blond-haired boy behind the wheel. I backed the Wrangler into the space behind the Mercedes quick and easy. Meanwhile, the boy was still sitting in the Mercedes. “Whatever,” I said to myself. “I have things to do.”

I got out of my Jeep and walked toward the corner. As soon as my back was to the Mercedes, I heard the door open and then slam shut. I slowed my pace when I rounded the corner to create an opportunity to check the boy out if he were to walk my way. He did. I could hear the boy behind me, but he was not going to come alongside. I got to Steamworks and jutted into the entryway; I grabbed the bright yellow handle and walked inside. I strolled slowly down the long hallway that leads to the registration counter. Sure enough, I heard the door open behind me. Without looking back, I knew that the boy had come inside. “Fake ID,” I said to myself. Maybe the boy was 16. Outside chance he was 17. But no way was he 18. So I thought he had to have a license that said 18 – he just could not pass for older than that.

The clerk behind the registration counter sashayed to the window closest to the buzz-through door. He was a tall Latin queen – name tag said “Angel.” The boy stood to my left as we both faced the counter. He watched carefully as Angel checked me in. I could see that the boy was about 5-9. Slender, of course. He was wearing blue jeans and a Cubs jacket. From what I could tell, he had flawless skin – not a pimple on his face. Nice nose, full lips, and just a hint of a dimple placed perfectly on his chin. Fresh haircut – short on the sides with a bit more volume along the hairline. Boy’s temples and hairline were much more blond than the rest of his hair, but that seemed to be natural color. “Fuck you,” I thought to myself. “You need some education.”

I returned to the task at hand: I pulled out my driver’s license, Steamworks card and cash. “Can I get a standard room?” “Sure,” Angel said. “That’s $25.” While Angel got my lockbox, I watched the boy retrieve his cash and driver’s license from his wallet. I couldn’t see the age on his license, but I could see the vertical orientation, which signified under 21 – the boy was smart enough to not push it too far. “Room 110,” Angel said as he passed me the key and a towel. “Check out is at 10:03 PM.” Angel buzzed the door, and I went in. I waited on the other side of the door long enough to hear the boy ask for a locker. I figured he would be assigned a locker on the ground floor because Steamworks would not be very busy. Room 110 was on the second floor, not very far from the landing at the top of the stairs that serves as a popular cruising, resting, and stand and model space. I headed to my room to change; confident that the boy would find his way to the landing.

I got a hardon as I climbed the stairs. I’m 41. Daddy age for the boy. 5-11, 170, toned and tanned. Glasses. Brown eyes and gently receding brown hair. 7x6 cut. Trimmed ass and groin. Ten-years poz, and a committed barebacker. “I don’t give a fuck,” I said to myself. “I’m going to nail that rich little bitch.” I undressed in my room, checking out my body and my hardon in the mirror. I left a bottle of fresh poppers on the stand next to the bed. I got my key, put on my towel, and headed to the showers. I took the long way, passing a slightly better than typical squad for that time of day. There was a 30-something white guy with a decent body and a bearish older guy patrolling the hallways. And there was a pair of Latin 20-something on the bench on the landing. They were probably just friends, cruising together for Caucasian or black cock. They probably barebacked like there is no tomorrow but didn’t admit it to each other.

I passed through the landing and climbed the few stairs up toward the showers. I heard the water running, and wondered who was in there. I squeezed my erection for good measure, put my towel on the hook, and stepped inside. I expected to find another bear, a flaming queen, or maybe a drugged-out twink coming down way too late and way too hard from a long night of being used. Instead, I found the early 20s version of a mid-30s guy that I had raw fucked and stealthed many years before – and for whom I had a unfulfilled craving ever since. The mid-30s guy was clean cut, smart, professional, and willing to bareback if it was “safe.”

I smiled as I stepped in the shower room. There are 4 shower heads, two on the left and two on the right. The early 20s Flashback guy was soaped up under the shower on the right furthest from the entry, with his body facing the wall. The profile showed a squeaky clean face, a hairy bush, and a plump uncut cock that flopped over big balls. I took the shower opposite Flashback on the left. Flashback was about 6 feet. Thick dark brown hair. Skinny upper body, but muscled thighs. A beautiful ass with soap suds running down the crack. When Flashback raised his arms, I could see that he shaved his pits. Nice contrast to his hairy bush.

So I am standing there facing Flashback, with a full-on erection. Flashback seemed to be enjoying the warm water, and was also giving me a bit of a show. He soaped his ass, spread his cheeks and passed a long finger over his pucker. And he bent all the way over to wash his legs and feet. Flexible little fuck. And just a few wisps of hair matted against those glorious buns, with nothing covering the sweet spot. Next thing I knew, I heard the shower next to me squirt to life. It was the Mercedes boy.

Boy must have watched in the entryway long enough to decide that he should take a cue from Flashback. But without the show. Boy showered facing the wall. He kept to himself -- but I could see him glance my way, and even turn his head a bit to see Flashback. Of course, I took advantage of the opportunity to study Boy. Yep, 5-9. Probably 130. The privileged little fuck had a tan like he was just back from a beach vacation. He had a tan line from board shorts. His body was hairless except for the groin. He had a hairy patch, but no treasure trail. Hairless chest with nipples stretched tautly on the sides of his budding pecs. Hairless forearms; hairless legs. Not a mark on his body. Boy wore a silver Celtic cross on a cloth lace around his neck. Maybe his mother gave it to him. “Altar Boy is here,” I said to myself. Maybe he told his mother he was going to choir practice. “Whatever.” Altar Boy had an uncut cock and nice, dangling balls.

Meanwhile, my cock was twitching. And Flashback wanted attention. He cleared his throat. Then he put his hands behind his head and spread his legs – like he was being arrested. Altar Boy turned his body to see what was happening – he was flaccid, with a deer-in-headlights look. Flashback turned around to face me. Fuck, he was nice. He stayed in the arrest position. His hair was plastered against his forehead. I could see the patch of hair in the center of his chest, and puffs of hair encircling his erect nipples. Flashback had a treasure trail leading to his thick bush. He looked at my cock, looked me up and down, and then turned back around. Then Flashback took his hands from behind his head and placed his palms against the wall. He was spread-eagle, with the shower running down his back. This was going to be short but powerful. Unlike his mid-30s namesake, Flashback didn’t need to be lied to about DDF bullshit to get fucked raw and anon.

I pushed Flashback against the cold wall of the shower. I soaped my dick and put it right against his hole. Flashback pushed his ass back against my hips. My mushroom head pierced him, and my shaft was drawn inside. I fucked Flashback, and he fucked back. Flashback moaned like he meant it. “Fuck me, Daddy,” he said in a baritone that was deep with desire. I drew Flashback’s hands back behind his head, and I licked his hairless pits. This was good. Then I grabbed his pecs and found my way to his nipples. They were like granite. So was I. “Give it to me, Daddy,” Flashback growled. I figured Flashback was kinky enough to be turned on by taking poz loads. I almost blurted out in response, “I am going to give you my poz load, Bitch,” – but then I remembered that Altar Boy was still in the shower. I bit my tongue – I didn’t want Altar Boy to know that I am poz. I looked over and saw that Altar Boy was pretty damn erect. A good seven inches. Maybe more. I also saw that the Latin friends from the landing were standing in the entryway enjoying the show. They probably witnessed Flashback at his cumwhore best at least once before I got to him.

Flashback felt amazing against me. His skinny upper body fit against my chest. His muscled thighs drew me into his velvet-smooth hole. And his animal desire cried out for us to make a baby. I knew I was past the point of no return. My balls were aching. My cock felt like it was going to burst. Out of reflex, I pushed Flashback against the shower wall and grabbed his undeveloped shoulders. “Fuck, fuck … take it, take it.” I started to feel light-headed. Next thing I knew, my cock was pulsating in waves from the base to the tip. No cum yet, just violent convulsions as though I were going to cum for the last time in my life. I took my hands off of Flashback’s shoulders and buried my elbows in the base of his neck, just above the center of his flexing shoulder blades. I cupped my face in my open hands. “God damn … motherfuck.” All I could hear was the shower. All I could feel was the warm water on my feet, and the walls of Flashback’s ass squeezing me with a manly grip. The shower was dark and warm. Flashback was dark and warm. There was nothing between us.

Flashback tossed his head back, crashing into my arms. My hands pressed firmer against my face as my own head flew back. I felt my feet arch. I felt my back arch. I felt Flashback sink onto my cock. His weight was against me as my lower body strained to keep us upright. “Oh God.” I pushed Flashback against the shower wall one last time. It was happening. It felt like my dick was splitting in two. I couldn’t breathe. Flashback writhed against me. One massive volley traveled up and out of my shaft into his deepest space. Then another. And another. My feet were still arched. My breath returned slowly. I emptied again and again. Flashback milked me. He milked me like he wanted it never to end. He took all I had. I was empty. But my cock was still massively engorged. We could not end with a quick pull-out.

Flashback never turned back around. We cleaned off in silence. I left Flashback exactly where I found him – but not as I found him. On any other day, I would have started thinking about returning to work. Instead, I remembered Altar Boy. “Where did that little fuck go?,” I asked myself. The Latin friends were nowhere to be seen. Flashback had been more than double good. He sparked the memory of a pleasurable fuck many years ago with his slightly older but equally hot namesake, and he drew me into him as though our mating was commanded from the core of the earth. The fires of hell up through every cell of my male anatomy, to be ignited and then extinguished by an act that could have squelched either of us if it had lasted one second longer. That moment was ended, but that fire was still in me. “Where is Altar Boy?”

[Guest GoodExercise]

I walked back toward Room 110. I barely glanced at the guys on the landing. I was horny as could be, but I needed a few minutes to regroup. “Room 110.” I double-checked my key tag. “Yep, this is it,” I said to myself. The room was just as I had left it. But everything seemed different. Flashback was great. Knowing that Altar Boy had watched was also great. The poppers were on the stand where I put them earlier. The television was still playing. I laid on the bed to watch. “What the fuck?” The old porn had ended, and the new porn was spoiled with condoms. “No.” I flipped through the channels until I found a bareback movie. “Good.”

My body started to shiver. The room was cold compared to the shower. My cock had softened, but was not fully at rest. I lay there semi-erect. Excited and exhausted all at once. I covered myself with my damp towel. It felt good. I stayed prone until the porn ended. Then I flipped the channel, stopping at the closed-circuit view of the gloryhole room. Altar Boy had his back against a wall, watching a twink blow a black muscle daddy. The picture was grainy, but I could see that Altar Boy was massaging his half-hardon. I remembered how big it had been when fully erect in the shower.

The twink sucking muscle daddy was no stranger to the task. He was probably only a few years older than Altar Boy, but looked so much more comfortable. I saw muscle daddy pull twink off his cock, and motion for Altar Boy. But Altar Boy stayed where he was. Twink went back to work. The gloryhole room action broke up, and I decided to head downstairs to the wet steam room. The path would take me past the cruising landing at the top of the stairs.

Altar Boy was sitting on a bench on the landing, with his towel covering his crotch. Nonetheless, he looked good. Our eyes caught – his were deep sea blue. He nervously grabbed the cross around his neck. I continued to the stairs, trying to descend them without grabbing the railing despite my poor depth perception. “Great,” I said to myself. “I made it.” As though I had just descended the Grand Canyon.

I opened the door to the wet area. I ascended the stairs to the small landing from which you can enter the whirlpool or either the wet or dry steam rooms. I surveyed the whirlpool. Black muscle daddy was in a front corner by himself. Close up, I recognized him. Poz. I spotted one of the Latin friends along the back wall. He was facing forward, seated in the lap of a good-looking middle-aged white guy. “Nice whirlpool,” I said to myself. “Stop talking to yourself,” I said to myself. I had not seen a trace of Flashback after leaving him in the shower. He wasn’t in the gloryhole room, on the upper landing, or in the landing pad for the wet area. He was probably home by now, but maybe he was in one of the steam rooms.

I stepped into the wet steam room. To the right is a pair of rainfall showers, each in their own alcove. I love these showers. They are dark and secluded, the water is warm and plentiful, and the prospect of making a new friend stimulates the erotic mind with the same vigor as the water that cascades upon the aroused body. Steamworks was playing 1980s retro music. Probably made more than a decade before Altar Boy. The shower turned itself off, and I hit the button for another round. Then I would reconnoiter the wet steam room. As I was about to head out, an older bear occupied the shower across from mine. My shower was over.

I grabbed my towel from the wall rack, threw it over my shoulder, and headed into the steam room. The steam room is like a little maze – but one that is good to get trapped in for a while. The walls and floor are white, the benches are black, and the steam is a puffy mixture of gray and white. Sometimes the steam is thick, sometimes barely present at all. The thick fog indicated to me that somebody was in the steam room, moving around and triggering the spray. I really have no idea how it works. But I do know that I like to find a bench and sit – waiting for prey.

I came to an alcove with a set of bleacher-type benches – three tiers. This is the perfect alcove because it is big enough for 3-5 men, but small enough to crowd others out if two guys want to be left alone together. I sat on the middle-tier bench and relaxed. The 1980s music continued, and I started thinking about Flashback Senior. “I wonder if he is poz?” “I wonder if he still lives on Seminary Street?” “Wait, so Seminary Street spawned Flashback. What will Altar Boy spawn?”

All of this useless babble was making me sleepy. Then a figure appeared at the entry of the alcove. A bear figure. “Fuck,” I said to myself. I put my towel over my cock. He walked on. Thirty seconds later another figure appeared. I could barely see a thing, but the outline was promising. Then I noticed the dark chain and shiny cross. Altar Boy.

I knew that I needed to take control. “Hey,” I said. “Hey,” he said back. This was good. But then I hesitated perhaps a half-moment too long. “Fuck,” I said to myself. “Sit down,” I said out loud – surprised by my own voice. How could I have been so confident with Flashback and now be such a pussy with Altar Boy? Altar Boy came and sat next to me, but on the top-tier bench. This was good. I would have easy access to his cock. Meanwhile, Altar Boy’s feet were next to me on my bench. They were hairless. Size elevens on a boy of 5-9. Hairless calves. Hairless thighs – not muscled like on Flashback. Towel covering crotch. But I could see up the towel. Altar Boy’s big balls were hanging low. And his cock was semi-erect yet again, slightly tenting his towel.

All of a sudden I had a pang of conscience. This boy was probably 16 or 17. It looked like he came from a good family. He was nice looking and had a bright future. He probably wasn’t a complete virgin, but he seemed so innocent compared to the rest of the guys at Steamworks that day. He saw me fuck Flashback bareback. But he did not know that the seed that I shot into Flashback was HIV positive seed. That is as far as my pang of conscience went before Altar Boy tapped his foot. Then tapped it again. “Get him,” I said to myself.

I ran my hand up Altar Boy’s smooth, slender leg. I went deep into his crotch where the groin meets the leg, and I squeezed. Then I turned, got on my knees, and put my elbows between his knees. I spread Altar Boy open – freeing his private parts from the cover of his towel. I ran my other hand up Altar Boy’s thigh to his balls. The sac was hairless. I squeezed the skin, and the orbs within. Now Altar Boy was fully erect. His foreskin was stretched open below his cockhead. He had a magnificent shaft with a center vein that disappeared back into his meat about halfway to the top. Just a bit of pubic hair grew along the sides of his cock near the base, but not enough to fully ring that boy meat. I tugged down on Altar Boy’s balls until his dick pointed right at my mouth. I licked the head, and forced my tongue under the foreskin. Then halfway down the shaft to the point where the center vein would soon protrude. Then the rest – down over the center vein until I could feel those fine boy hairs on the side of my mouth, and his head and shaft in my throat. The steam had cleared my sinuses, so I could keep working Altar Boy’s cock. Altar Boy put his hands on the back of my head and pulled me down onto him. Then he put his thighs over my shoulders and dangled his calves down my back. Then I felt something unexpected.

I was on the middle-tier bench with my face buried in Altar Boy’s crotch and my ass pointing up in the air – at perfect height for an intrusion. I felt a hand cup my ass cheek. Then another hand ran along my hole. The wet steam makes penetration easy. One finger. Another finger. Three fingers. It hurt. “If I hurt, Altar Boy should hurt.” I pried open his legs, lifted him with my arms and shoulders, and exposed his hole. The ass cheeks were hairless, but the center was dusted with pubic hair like the wisps around the side edges of the base of his cock. Fine hair that would make entry sweet and gritty. I licked a finger and slipped it in. Pulled it out, licked it and another, and stuck them in. Pulled them out, licked them and another, and stuck them in. His ass tasted good. Boy ass.

The guy behind me started to rim me. Fuck, I love to be rimmed. “If I get rimmed, Altar Boy should get rimmed.” I lifted Altar Boy up a bit further, and he spread his legs open with his hands. His boy pucker was quivering. I covered him with my lips and I lapped his anus with my tongue. I dug in. I would have stuck my tongue all the way up Altar Boy into the back of his throat if I could have. I heard Altar Boy say, “Fuck him.” He wanted me to get fucked.

I tried to relax, but it hurt. The bastard behind me was thick. Stubby, but thick. Thankfully, the guy was the perfect height, so he had a good angle. And I felt no belly on him. Maybe he was young, maybe he was old. But he was skinny. And uncut. “If I get fucked, Altar Boy gets fucked.” But I couldn’t do it in the position we were in.

The skinny guy with the fat, uncut cock was getting close – faster and harder. Meanwhile, Altar Boy was jacking his seven-incher. I alternated between his boy balls and his boyhole. Licking the skin in between as well. I could feel Altar Boy start to convulse. I couldn’t stop him. I felt a volley of boy cum land on my back and another on my ass. Then I got my mouth over his cockhead and took the rest of that young boy batter down my throat. The action triggered skinny guy. “Take my poz load,” he let out. “Cover blown,” I thought. “Take my AIDS load,” he grunted. “That does it,” I thought. Skinny guy worked his load into me pretty good. When he finally pulled out, he leaned forward and kissed Altar Boy. Sweet. When skinny guy pulled away and leaned against the far wall. I managed to get seated back on the bench. Skinny guy had dark hair and a hairy chest. Maybe Middle-Eastern. Late 30s. Gaunt and sunken in the face, and very skinny all over. He looked very sexy, and very sated. I leaned forward, and he stepped forward. Altar Boy rested his feet on my shoulders. I took skinny AIDS guy in my mouth, cleaning myself off of him. I liked it.

Skinny AIDS guy pulled off, and headed out – brushing past the small crowd that had gathered in the entry way. I figured the action was over. Altar Boy had just watched me take an AIDS load, and he had just shot his own load. It had been an amazing good time, but I wanted to fuck again. Oh well.

[Guest GoodExercise]

Altar Boy kissed me. That was nice. I grabbed my towel and headed back to my favorite shower in the alcove. Altar Boy took the opposite shower. Cool. “What’s your name?,” he asked. “Fred,” I said. It was made up. “Yours?” “Peter,” he said. “Do you have a room?,” he asked, and explained that he had to pick his mother up from her book club and dinner with the girls at 8:00 PM – which was still a few hours away. “Yeah,” I said. “You can hang with me for a while.” It was agreed.

Peter followed me to Room 110. Again, it was as I left it. This time bareback porn was playing. The poppers were on the stand, untouched. Peter examined himself in the mirror. His back was to me, but I could see both sides. The foreskin of his uncut cock enveloped the head of his penis. His balls hung low. Peter did not have a bubble butt, but the curve of his slender body had the elegance of youth. His skin was flawless. Except for the boarder shorts tan line, it was uniform head to toe. No moles or birthmarks. Nothing. A few wisps of hair under the arms, a patch of pubes above his cock and traveling along its base until turning softly to powder coat the innermost parts of his ass. Nothing on the chest but boy nipples. Nothing on the abdomen but a boy button. Fine facial lines making a strong nose and full lips. And those shocking eyes glistening with deep sea blue splendor. Edible.

Peter spooned with me on the narrow bed. He half-dozed. I also faded in and out. When we were refreshed, he elbowed me. “I like that guy,” he said. A man looking roughly like skinny AIDS guy from the steam room was fucking a muscled Latin guy bareback. “I like you,” I said. So cheesy. Then I popped the question. “Do you get fucked?” Peter got shy again. “Sometimes,” he answered quietly. “Do you top?,” I asked. “Only if I have to,” he said.

My deviant mind began to race, and my poz cock began to stir. This boy had been to the rodeo before. He watched me breed a guy in the shower, and then followed me to the steam room. He watched me take an AIDS load, and then followed me to my private room. My cock was at full strength up against the crack of Peter’s ass. And I could see Peter’s own cock snaking up against his hairless abs. Then Peter’s Celtic cross caught my eye again. The black rope held it high on his smooth chest. And the cross glimmered even in the dim light of the room, catching the flickering from the television. My deviant mind caught on something dirty.

“Are you an Altar Boy?” I couldn’t believe I asked. Peter said, “Yes.” “But this is my last year,” he volunteered. He looked a bit wistful and went on, “I like the priests.” “I liked some of the other Altar Boys before they graduated.” I had started out resenting this privileged kid. Then I just wanted to do him dirty for the sake of it. Now I saw him in a very different way. “Is that okay?,” he asked – staring into my eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Sure,” I said. “Catholic?,” I asked. “Yes,” he answered. “So condoms are a sin, or were – I’m not sure.” I couldn’t resolve that quandary. “It all works out,” he said. The logic of youth.

Peter turned around to face me. We kissed. Not a sweet peck. A deep kiss. We were hungry. I put Peter on his back, then I turned around and got on top of him 69-style. I raised Peter’s butt and spread him apart, resuming the rim job that began in the steam room. Peter took me in his mouth and down his throat. I wrapped Peter’s soft feet in my hands, jammed my tongue onto and into his anus, and face fucked him with my poz cock. It all felt so good; I could have shot down his throat. But I had another mission in mind for my second and final team of poz swimmers for the day.

I turned around, facing Peter. I put his calves up on my shoulders – the tan line from his board shorts highlighting the target zone from waistline to mid-thigh. Peter looked over at the stand. “Fuck,” I thought to myself. The condoms were right there. Steamworks places them in every room. I usually toss them, but had neglected. I closed my eyes. “Should we use these?,” Peter asked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said to myself again. “Did he get some kind of epiphany about condoms?” Then I opened my eyes. Peter was holding the poppers in his hand.

Peter took the first hits. Both nostrils. Then he held the bottle up to my nose. I usually don’t do poppers, but I wanted to do them with Peter. I would follow him to hell – probably already was. My head flushed and pounded, my heart raced. “Let me in.” “Let me in.” My face is so hot and my cock is ready to sacrifice this Altar Boy. Peter shimmies up against me, planting my cockhead right against his anus. He pushes out; I push in. Boy on bottom; man on top. Flashback was like velvet. Peter is like a velvet cupcake. Decadent smooth; decadent creamy. Impossible to put down.

I hit the poppers again, and fed Peter. Peter leans his head back into the pillow and lays his arms down his sides, grinding his ass up into my cock. I thrust. He thrusts back. “God forgive us,” Peter murmurs. “Fuck me, Father Fred.” “Do you like it, Father Fred?” “Am I a good boy, Father Fred?” I wonder to myself why I told Peter my name is Fred. But I know why he calls me Father.

I answer, “Yes, Son – soon.” Peter licks his hand and wraps it around his stiff dick. He manages to stroke himself slowly while I fuck him with abandon. Peter says “I want to be a good boy.” I tell him to get on his hands and knees. Peter complies. His balls are hanging down between his white ass cheeks, his pecker bouncing down past the tan line. The thick wad of skin that connects the middle of his sac to the base of his ass points the way upward into his fuckhole. I spread his ass open and slip my tongue into that shithole.

I want Peter to ask for my poz cock. I hit the poppers and hand him the bottle. The poppers have my head and my cock boiling, and they have Peter grinding back onto me. I lean forward and whisper the penultimate question into Peter’s tender ear: “Do you want my poz cock?” “Please,” is the best he comes out with. “Say it,” I whisper. “Please … give me your poz cock;” Peter finally gets the whole sentence out.

Despite the poppers and all of the fucking so far, Peter’s hole is tight. I spit on my cock and spit on his pucker. Then I push in; past the last vestige of any resistance. He is as good as any boy I have ever fucked. I watch as my thick dick splits his pucker apart and slides into him. Then back out so that the head rests right at the opening. Peter moans and pushes back, taking me in.

The house music has switched to a classic porn beat. In and out. Fuck him. Fuck the little whore. I know what he wants. And I am close to giving it to him. Time for the ultimate question; with the help of the poppers. “Do you want my poz load in you?,” I ask. “Please,” is the answer again. So I press: “Please what?” I get the answer in the form of a request. “Please give me your poz load.” I already have an AIDS load in my ass. And I have my poz cock plugged into this teen hole. Peter’s tan face is red from the poppers. I am one thrust away from the point of no return when Peter suddenly pulls back off my cock. “Fuck,” I think. “What is he doing?”

Peter flips onto his back. He shakes his head clear. He puts his calves back up on my shoulders. He wraps his one soft hand around his own cock and the other around mine. Then he points my cock toward his hole. I know the poppers have worn off. I wonder: “Does he want to jerk me off; or does he want to put me back in him?” Peter leans up close and kisses me. Before he lays back down, he trains those deep sea blue eyes into my eyes and says, “I want it.” He lays back down and says “Please.”

“Should I?” I take a hit of poppers to think about it. The answer comes as my head rushes. I will be the one. I wall tag him. Mark him. Deliver him. Gift him. The fucking is intense. Peter gives with his ass as good as I give with my cock. A blur. Until I explode. Flashback was an eruption. This is beyond. Less lava, but bigger quake. “Yeah, take it. Take it. Take it.” I grab Peter’s face and kiss him while I bury myself into him. And empty. “Let me poz you, Baby. Let me poz you.” Do I say it out loud or just in my head? Either way: with each spasm, with each declaration -- the deed is done.

Peter thanks me. I thank him. We rest, then shower. Then we check out. “I’m parked behind you,” I say as we head out together. “I remember,” Peter says. “Next Wednesday?,” he asks. “You bet.” I never saw him again.

[Guest pozpig46]

wow what a story

[Hotload84]

Nicely written, GoodExercise. Thanks for posting.

[btm2bbred]

Great story! Loved how you went back and forth in your mind about stealthing or letting Peter know that you were giving him a poz load. Glad you got him to beg you for what he wanted all along.

Great detail writing, too. I feel like I have had a guided tour of Steamworks Chicago!