Needless to say, Carlos was popular on the dance floor. He never lacked for a crowd of admirers. Unlike many body boys, however, Carlos was not part of a pack. For one thing, aside from ‘roids and other bodybuilding “enhancements,” Carlos didn’t do drugs and didn’t have much time for people who did. But mostly Carlos liked being the lone wolf -- he wanted all of the attention, he didn’t need it from a group of wannabes.

Carlos took it for granted that all eyes were on him – he was, after all, one of the best bods in town – but tonight he felt something different. He kept seeing someone or something out of the corner of his eye, someone more intent than usual, something unexpected.

“Gotcha!”

Against the wall, half in the shadows, baggy jeans, loose flannel shirt, dorky glasses, somehow vaguely familiar, and devouring Carlos with his eyes.

Slowly but confidently and surely Carlos danced his way out of the pack and off the floor. Unlike so many wannabes, Carlos was secure enough in himself that he wasn’t hung up on looks – well, other people’s looks, that is. The big question was whether they were any good at getting into HIM, in the way that he liked. Didn’t hurt, for that matter, if the guy was Anglo and pale and furry, and he was guessing this guy was.

“Dude, what’s up?”

“Don’t you recognize me, Carlos?”

Holy Shit!

“Roger, what the fuck are you doin’ here, man?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Carlos snorted.

“Well, this must be your first time because I’m here every Saturday night, amigo.”

Roger turned bright red, then stuttered out a question:

“Uh, then, uh, does that mean, uh, that you’re…?”

“Gay?”

Roger was too tongue-tied to reply.

“Let’s put it this way, dude. Just don’t call me a ‘practicing’ homosexual. I’m a certified, Grade A, primo, fudgepacking, cocksucking faggot, ya know?”

A wave of relief washed over Roger’s handsome, boy next door face. Carlos still found it hard to believe this guapo hottie was 10 years older than he was.

“Well, uh, ya know…”

“S’okay, man,” Carlos said. “I kinda figured it out a long time ago. You’re so focused in the gym it was hard to tell at first. But you ain’t never had your tongue falling out over Angelina or Gloria or them other big-boobed broads and you sure don’t seem to mind looking at Randy and Frank and Michael.”

Damn, there was that blush again. This boy was getting Carlos’ motor running.

“Uh, well, yeah,” Roger said. “But I’m new at this. I always knew I was, I’ve just never had time to do anything about it.”

Carlos looked at him askance.

“Well ain’t it about time…?”

Roger’s eyes got wide.

“Is that…?”

“A come on? Hell, yeah, man. I don’t know why you’re dressed like you’re going to a Kurt Cobain festival but I know what you got under there and it ain’t half bad. ‘Sides, I like a man who likes muscle – and I know you do!”

Roger was speechless.

“So what’s it gonna be? Your place or mine?”

+ + +

Carlos was impressed.

They’d taken Roger’s car, a shiny black Mercedes convertible out to Piney Point, a ritzy new development with big new houses on big waterfront lots. Roger’s was modern – stucco, native stone, teak, lots of glass – and about five times the size of Carlos’ apartment.

“Jeez, man,” Carlos said, “you must have some rich ass parents.”

Roger shook his head.

“They died in a car crash the year I graduated from high school. My dad was an electrician, my mom was a kindergarten teacher. The insurance money put me through college but that was it.”

Carlos looked at Roger with new respect.

“You did all this on your own?”

A nod.

“Computers,” Roger said. “And sense enough to get out of the market before the crash. Want something to drink?”

“Nah, man, I’ve had enough but is that a hot tub I see on the deck?”

“And a pool and a sauna and a steam room. All the comforts of home,” Roger said. “Wanna try ‘em out?”

He didn’t need to ask a second time. Carlos got the spa going, then climbed in, while Roger putzed around his shiny, high tech kitchen, brewing up some ‘ritas.

“C’mon, cutie,” Carlos said when Roger finally arrived, a tray with an icy pitcher and two frosted glasses. “Get out of ‘dem clothes, boy.”

Roger stripped – and it was Carlos’ turn to stare.

5-11 and 200 lbs., totally solid, in all the right places. Pale skin, a dusting of freckles across the shoulders and arms, silver-dollar sized pink nipples, and a delicious coating of thick, luxurious, soft brown fur in all the right places.

And a great big weenie!

“Jeez, man, you’ve got a big one for a white boy! That’s bigger than mine!”

Instantly hard, Roger stepped into the tub, taking the seat directly opposite Carlos – as far away as possible, in other words! He slouched in the water, his shoulders tucked in, hands in his lap. Carlos rose and stepped across the tub, looming over Roger, his massive, hard body glistening, his dark, uncut cock, rock solid and jutting towards Roger’s sweet, sensitive mouth.

“Have you ever done this before, son?” Carlos asked, getting right to the point.

“Once,” Roger croaked, “A long time ago. But it wasn’t nearly as big.”

“Take it then,” Carlos said. “You know you want it.”

Roger’s soft, sweet mouth enveloped Carlos’ cockhead, pushing back his ample foreskin, lingering here and there – all the right places.

“Just once, huh? You’re doin’ great for a beginner.”

Roger took more of Carlos’ thick, 9-inch dong into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Carlos thought. “That’s fucking smooth as silk.”

Roger did things with his tongue. Carlos flexed and ground his hips. He didn’t think he could get harder.

He was wrong.

Roger swallowed Carlos to the hilt.

“Jeezus,” Carlos moaned. “That’s a fucking hot mouth you’ve got there, papi.”

Roger kept going. And going. And going. In no time Carlos was on the verge and that never happened. Carlos came when Carlos wanted to cum and that usually wasn’t until he’d had a good hour of muscleworship-cum-foreplay. But Rorger’s mouth was so fucking hot!

Roger relented, slightly, and Carlos breathed a bit easier. And then Roger started in again. Back and forth, up to the peak, then back down the hill a bit. No one had ever kept Carlos on the cusp for so long. On and on. Carlos’ feet were clenched, he’s quads and calves were beginning to spasm from having kept the same position for so long, but he didn’t want to move.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Carlos exclaimed. “Man, you gotta let me cum!”

Roger did something, Carlos couldn’t say what, and the resulting explosion toppled him onto Roger. Quick as lightning Roger grabbed the 240 lb. hunk and held him in position as load after load of Carlos’ spunk went down Roger’s throat.

Spent at last, Carlos’ knees buckled and he found himself sitting on Roger’s lap, his arms around Roger’s neck, Roger’s arms around Carlos’ thick pecs.

“Fuck, man,” Carlos said, utterly spent. “How did you do that?”

Roger chuckled.

“It’s like Randy says.”

“You’re…?” “I’m…”

“Unstoppable.” •