What thoughts I have of you tonight .. Allen Ginsberg
Ian had been driving through absolutely bleak landscapes on a seemingly endless highway for hours. He was unsteady and restless. He did not have to achieve a chosen goal at a particular time.
It was summer, he was on vacation and had followed his spontaneous impulse to just drive off and let himself go. Just like the good, old and modern classics once — the Beat Generation. The vanguard of the hippies.
He particularly adored Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady and Jack Kerouac. Aside from these, he also worshiped the Brontës, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, Walt Whitman, Hart Crane, W. W. Jacobs, Ambrose Bierce, Tennessee Williams and many others. And then his unearthly idol Numero Uno: Oscar Wilde, the delightful Irishman who had had such a foul play upon him. Like a curse.
When he only thought of Teleny, that "obscene" work that was attributed to him, his warrior was very perky and wanted to blow the armor of his jeans.
Ian, in his mid-thirties, with brown, sad eyes and light brown hair, definitely felt underfucked. He was flexible. Loved jumping back and forth between bottom and top. Both had their own whipping charm.
He would love to have a throbbing cock in his mouth or ass again. Or would like to fuck someone really hard until this guy was soft.
Two months already without sex! He needed the sultry heat of a very tight bum or someone nailing him properly or he'd go nuts.
He was getting dangerously tired as well. When, in the late afternoon, he saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road with his thumb up, Ian stopped. He then sat blissfully in the passenger seat.
"Where do you want to go?" asked Ian.
"Never mind! Just get away from here. Man, I'm glad you stopped. I've been standing my feet sore for hours. I'm Nathaniel, but Nate is fine," he explained.
"Ian," replied the helmsman. Unobtrusively he appraised Nate from the side. His heart tightened as the man, who could be about Ian's age, reminded him painfully of his college friend, his great love Jude.
Officially, an accident had caused his death, but Jude had helped himself to die. It still hung on Ian like a leaden weight on his riddled soul.
Nate's furry, dark brown mane was wildly wild. His green eyes looked like iridescent northern lights. His smile seemed to be the antidote to all bad weather fronts.
Both of them failed to make small talk, so Nate turned his attention to a book instead.
"What's your reading?" Ian asked too curiously.
"Teleny by Oscar Wilde. Do you know the book?" Nate raised his eyebrows questioningly. Ian laughed out loud, to Nate's irritation.
"Do I know the book? I've devoured it ravenously several times. It's very ... stimulating," Ian explained his fit of amusement with thoughtful words.
Meanwhile, Nate was getting bolder. "I am stimulated and extremely hard!" he grinned suggestively.
A delicate blush colored Ian's face. Not out of embarrassment, but because the heat shot straight into his loins and erectile tissue.
"Directly there is a junction to a farm road that I know very well. There is a hidden clearing in a wood back there. Would you like ... would you like to ...?" Ian whispered, stammered and stuttered slightly.
"Fuck? Yes, please! My balls are already hurting!" The lust and longing gave Nate's voice an urgent connotation.
"To heat us up even more, I recite my poem, which I wrote back in college. THE BALLAD OF THE SACRED COCK
A tribute to the upright and erect
Who holds the bumps and thrusts of life
And the hardness in the tightness
But that massages and craves you
Who gets wet all the time?
If not soaking
It is the sacred cock
Your loins and groins
Are your buddies
And your testicles united with you
Bundled twin brothers
Oh how painful a kick
Or blow is
The one that hangs on you up there
Roaring on the floor, bended, Ouch!
Yes, you have a life of your own
Sometimes your subject is embarrassed
But this person on you is just an appendix
But without this synergetic symbiosis
YOU couldn't even exist
You suck blood like a vampire
Into your erectile tissues
To wake up from your limpness
Yes, yes, the famous morning erection
What fine hardwood
That should be rammed into damp soil
More than a sharp splinter
To drill deep into a moist
Sphincter
The tail doesn't wag the man
O high priest, wild Oscar
How did you worship the phallus
Even the ancient Greeks were horny
And made sculptures
In your honor
Ho! Ho! You've been in so many wet holes
And still have no rheumatism
My fierce comrade who becomes a fountain
You are a stained brother
Come open my shell
Slurp it, the cherry and its contents
You old virgin eater, whether men or women
You lustful dragon
You are the snake that is allowed to crawl into me
You are the stick in my bush
You heat every crevasse
You are the sword in my sheat
I'll be impaled by you with relish
A stake in my pocket
That stretches me to the breaking point
And in my mouth you are smooth and silky
Give me more of your drink
That is filling and thirst-quenching
You love anal-ysis and power calculation
The isosceles triangle between legs
The anus of it all
You expand me to infinity
My flower and rosette blooms only for you
Our penis compares quite to the clitoris
Lust equals us all
Clitoris likes to rub against you
And ass openings also
To cuddle you humid
You understand that I drool above and below
When your rebel rises
Storm my sky
When I think of a pit full of cocks
I feel so different
Two of them at once
In every hungry opening
Waiting to invite you all at the same time
Inseminate me in every hole
That I slide slippery down your back
O mortal sin lust
I love going to Hell for you
Because there are beguiling Devils
And horny Demons without end
And I still have a long way to go
Tried all tail species
You may hurt me until I'm raw
What bliss!"
"Great!" Nate laughed happily. "I'm guaranteed to burst right now!"
Ian hoped that there was no nasty surprise in store for him and that Nate, like himself, just wanted to fuck.
Sometimes Ian is afraid that he drowns the harsh reality too much in his own typically black humor and then misunderstood potentially dangerous situations. Gallows humor was his only shield against all the madness of the present.
Ian was in a state of excitement when they got out and he escorted Nate to that clearing.
The situation accelerated Ian's heart pounding. Everything tingled and was fluttering in his stomach. God how cheesy! His heart was beating against his rip cage, Nate's voice, that smile, those glittering irises.
The first thing they did after they got to the clearing was to completely undress, regardless of the intense June sun that burned down on them.
They grabbed each other and were clinging to one another. Their cockstands collided. Both of their precums were already dripping clear.
Both buried and dug their hands in each other's hips, shoulders, and cheeks. That would give bruises. Both gasped violently with pleasure as their wet tongues wrestled with one another. They sank to the ground.
Ian took possession of Nate's lips with light bites, licking and caressing. He literally took his breath away, smashed Nate on the soft, green grass.
Kisses, kisses, kisses famished as if he had been on such a hunger strike as a prisoner. Ian realized that Nate was a complete stranger to him and that this could be destructive, but he didn't give a damn at that moment anyhow.
He held Nate tight, spread his legs, lifted his bum a little and began to lick and suck his anus. Both of them first groaned an adagio, which rose more and more to a crescendo.
Ian penetrated Nate with the tip of his tongue and screwed him that way with great devotion. Nate's tail twitched. Ian picked it up and then tasted it orally. It was a delight when he internalized his crystal clear spring balm.
It raptured Ian to feel Nate pulsing inside him and swelling even more as he teased him with his tongue and sucked his mind right out of his head. He massaged Nate's testicles at the same time. The latter groaned and exulted in the loveliest tones.
After Nate sent his honey towards the stomach of Ian, the latter used copious amounts of saliva to soften his lover's hole and so that his cock would glide better into him.
Gasping and screaming, he penetrated Nate, who squeaked unusually, then looped his long legs tightly around Ian's hips. So he pulled him closer and felt him even more intensely.
They slept with one another rough without being gentle. Ian hammered Nate ruthlessly and Nate enjoyed it because his facial expressions jumped back and forth between ecstasy and pure lust.
Ian caressed Nate's trembling shoulders. Both of their bodies quivered. Nate was stiff again and Ian jerked him off. His hose squirted with brute force into the burning fire of Nate, while he ejaculated on Ian's hand and his own stomach.
Totally exhausted, Ian lay on top of Nate. Both laughed as if liberated. That had served them tremendously well. Ian rolled onto Nate's right side.
"Nate! You are so beautiful!" He snuggled up against him, kissed Nate's shoulder and neck.
"You too!" smiled Nate. Suddenly Nate jumped on Ian like a cowboy on a wild mustang. Straddling and facing him.
He manipulated him so skillfully that Ian was back in top shape. Then Nate lifted his cum-eating, cock-hungry ass to slowly lower himself onto Ian. He took him in and up, whimpering with joy and loved it being passionately staked with Ian's driller.
He grabbed Ian's shoulders and rode him unbridled. His inner section ass muscles spasmed and kneaded Ian's dick. Nate threw back his head and breathed in gusts to match the rhythm.
Ian was drained with a roar as he poured his white gold into Nate. Bruises and scratches would stay with them for a long time.
When Nate broke away from Ian, there was another deep kiss. They cleaned themselves up and dressed again. Ian and Nate loved the powerful scent of musk.
In the next town, to his regret, Nate got out. They didn't exchange numbers and addresses. Nate waved goodbye and Ian drove on. They never saw each other again. Or? Never say Never. Thanks Oscar!
