Push Bac

There was no question that the guy was Navy. He was bulked up like he could lift a battleship and he was wearing the blue camouflage loose trousers that Navy enlisted men wore these days for work details. Black combat boots, and a navy-blue T-shirt that was pulled so tightly across his broad chest that every curve and both nipples stood out. He promised to be rough. A butt-ugly face, with rugged, square-jaw features and close-cropped blond hair. If it weren't for the Navy work clothes I could have taken him for a Marine.

And I had no trouble with being taken by a Marine—or several in quick succession. That had happened in Norfolk, which was a combat-level base. Those Marines took everything hard. There were no Marines here, though—that I knew of. Pity.

He was sitting at a table in the center of the room at Merry's when I entered and was glowering at all the men moving around the small room. Most of the rent boys there, like me, were trying to put the make on him. I moved to my regular table in the shadows and sat, facing him, the side of the chair toward the table, so that I could spread my legs and cup my crotch with a hand as I seemingly let my gaze travel around the room but, really, always keeping him in my peripheral vision.

I wanted him to come to me. He had to come to me.

And then he did. Pulling up a café chair and straddling it in reverse right in front of me, sneering at me, reaching over with a beefy hand and brushing the hand I had laid on my crotch away and palming and squeezing my package.

He got right to it. "How much for a fuck?"

"Thirty bucks," I answered.

"A rough fuck," he clarified.

"Forty bucks, and you pay for the room." I almost always asked for fifty, but I was aching to have this hunk fuck me—roughly. I was trying to get Jerry out of my mind. And Austin too, if truth be told. The offer Jerry had been working up to making would have been too good to turn down. A cushy life. And all I'd have to do was play wifey. The veritable lap of luxury. Whenever I came close to this, though, I retreated to the groove.

This sailor, exuding rough fuck and danger, with the bulky chest, and the big hands, and the big bulge at his crotch, promised to pull me back into the groove. It was where I belonged. It was pretentious for me to expect better.

"Then let's get to it," he said, standing and pulling me up from my chair as well. He practically goose-stepped me out of Merry's.

At the top of the stairs in the alley, leaning up against the wall and smoking a cigarette, was the duplicate—other than that he was black as coal—of the Navy hulk manhandling me up the stairs. Right down to the work gear and the bulging chest and crotch, and the sour, determined expression.

"This here's my bud," the first sailor said. "We do everything together. We're gonna do you together too. You're gonna earn it hard—and double." It wasn't a request.

"That wasn't the . . ." I started to say, but what was the use? Sailor one had me in such a tight hold that I wasn't going anywhere, and sailor two was already standing close in front of me, running one hand up under my T and groping my crotch with the other.

"It'll be forty bucks each then," I bravely said. "Plus you pay for the hotel room."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." They started dragging me deeper into the alley.

"The hotel's around the corner," I plaintively said.

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up."

When I opened my mouth to speak, the black guy popped me in the mouth, grabbed me as I was going down, and threw me over his shoulder.

When they said they did everything together, they meant it. They DPed me deep in the alley, in the dark, behind a trash bin. It wasn't any worse, though, than Marines had done to me in Norfolk. And the Marines had been packing more than these two guys were.

They took me standing up, me stripped, with my T-shirt stuffed in my mouth, and them stripped of their T's but just with their flies open. I was sandwiched between them, with sailor one fucking me from behind and sailor two from in front, both of their dicks inside me at the same time and counterpunching me.

When they were done, they just let me sink to the ground in a heap and left me there—no forty dollars apiece or anything.

It didn't matter—much. Well, it hadn't mattered much a few weeks ago, but I was getting tired of it. Something was stirring inside me, rebelling against the groove. It brought me back into the reality of what my life was. It pulled me right back into the groove, which had been OK, but now wasn't really OK anymore.

Still, the experience wasn't all bad. I'd needed a nasty fuck. I didn't collect my fee from time to time. It was an occupational hazard. But I didn't often get totally fucked like those two sailors did me.

Put right in my place, I was.

At the same time I'd never felt more empty, more helpless and hopeless.

* * * *

I was sitting across the table from the ghoul. He was gripping my forearm again—and he was telling me I wanted it again. One hundred and seventy-five dollars. Three fifties, a twenty, and a five were fanned out on the table. God, I wondered, what was I going to be giving up for this amount?

The ghoul was grinning a sneery grin at me and directing my attention down when his eyes captured mine. He'd laid a photograph on the table top. Two cocks nearly kissing each other, but not quite touching. Between them, joining them, was a thick sounding wand. Skewering both piss slits, probably buried deep in both cocks, bringing the two cock heads together in a kiss. In the photo, cum had burbled up from both cocks, the cum intermingling and dripping down the sides of both shafts.

I know he had placed the photo there to arouse me and as a promise of our coming coupling. And in the dark recesses of my mind, it did arouse me, pulling me into the groove. But there were other forces stirring within me, pulling me to resist.

He shuffled a bit to the side of the table. I knew he wanted me to see something. He brushed his overcoat open enough that I could see his hard cock—and that a sounding wand was half buried in it. I knew he wanted me to go with him so he could put my cock on the other half of that rod. A good six inches of rod were exposed. I had no idea how many inches were inside the ghoul's cock. I moaned as he grabbed my hand and moved it to where I was cupping his cock, feeling how rock hard it was with the wand running down it. When he knew I was cowed enough to leave my hand there, his hand withdrew, unzipped me, and fisted my cock, holding it straight out from my crotch. I couldn't help it, I was starting to go hard.

He had a grip on one of my chair legs with the other hand and was pulling my chair toward him.

My god, was he going to do it right here? I had no doubt that no one here would prevent him from doing so. They'd gather to watch the show. I'd been fucked on one of these tables before, with all the other men gathered around, a few of them waiting their turn. No one had objected or lifted a finger to stop the action.

In my imagination, I already was drawn into him, and I was looking down in mixed horror and shuddering anticipation as he pulled my cock to him, positioning the rounded end of the exposed sounding wand at my piss slit, and slowly made my cock swallow it, bringing my bulb ever close to kissing his. the two bulbs touching and him starting a slow motion of his hips, moving the wand inside my cock in and out with his movement, causing me to come—with him—our cum mingling and dripping to the floor.

There was no pain or sense of helplessness in my imagination as I knew there would be in the reality of it. There was the deep arousal of doing it, though, both there in my imagination and the promise of it in reality. And there was the groove, telling me that this was ultimate sensuality, that it was what I wanted. And that I wanted him to do it here, with all the other men gathered around, their hands on me, pushing my hips forward on the chair as my cock sank on the wand, coming ever closer to the ghoul's bulb.

I fought back, shaking my head, and looking wildly around the room, checking on who was watching us.

I caught a glimpse of pristine white across the room, at the beaded curtain covering the entrance to the corridor to the other side of the building, and looked up.

My young sailor—Austin—was standing in the doorway, dressed once more in his Navy whites. His gaze was traveling around the room . . . until it came to rest on me. The look of want he gave me melted my heart. And all reason flowed out of me at that moment. I felt free as I'd never felt before, my whole life up to this point falling away from me. I could almost hear the chains rattle down to the floor.

I pulled away from the ghoul's grip—both physical and mental—and stood up from the table. Was it really that easy, pulling out of his grip? Had it been that easy all along and I just hadn't understood that it was?

I moved, as if walking under water, across the room and to Austin. He reached out a hand and placed it on my arm. I was in his grip now—a much gentler grip than I had experienced with any other man. We leaned into each other and kissed.

When we drew away, Austin said, "I've been looking all over for you. I was afraid I'd lost you. Can you come with me? I don't have a motel room this time. I didn't know when I'd find you, or if you'd go with me when I did. But I can—"

"We can go to my room," I said. "It's nearby. Let's go out the back so no one can see us."

"Your place?"

Yes, I thought.

My

place. Where I've never taken a man before.

"My name is Krit, by the way," I said as we moved, arm in arm through the dark corridor.

Beginning to care; starting to pull back, starting to see better choices to make.

- Fini -