Here's a silly adjunct to EXQUISITE CORPSE that I
wrote in 1994 or thereabouts and just unearthed. While shopping
at my favorite gay bookstore, FM Books on Frenchmen Street,
I found a magazine called CHERRY BOYS. It was (and is) sort
of a Penthouse Forum-type thing for men who like younger men,
and for some reason I became obsessed with the idea of selling
them a story -- complete with ultra-porny style, throbbing shafts,
puckered love holes, and all. I did, and got a whopping $100
for it.
DE-FLOWER OF THE ORIENT
by Lucas Ransom
I've always had a thing for Asian boys. Something in my chemistry
makes me crave the perfect single folds of their eyelids, the
slippery crow-coarseness of their hair, the sandalwood taste
of their skin, their beautiful fine-boned faces. I'm blond,
pretty muscular, big through the chest and shoulders, and I've
never had trouble attracting these young men. To some of them,
my average American good looks seem as exotic as their ebony
hair and golden skin are to me.
I met Tran at a cruisy catered party in the French Quarter,
a place on the gay end of Bourbon Street near my own digs in
the Faubourg Marigny. Some Quarter kids crashed the party looking
for free alcohol, which was tolerated because they were mostly
young and cute. They brought along the silent, scared-looking,
beautiful Vietnamese-American boy they'd met in Jackson Square
earlier that night. Tran was a good short-haired Oriental son
making his first hesitant attempts at being bad. He was drunk
on the sweet pink wine the kids had been passing around, and
sat in a corner holding his head, looking so sick that even
the most avid prowlers stayed away.
I had just turned thirty, and was wondering if I could still
trust myself. I didn't want to watch this beautiful kid puke
his guts up in front of everyone, or pass out and get groped
by a stranger. But the kid looked like jailbait and I had no
idea if he liked men.
I got him up and out of the party, walked him around the block,
waited a discreet distance away while he vomited into some banana
plants. After that, Tran staggered into my arms and tried to
kiss me, which clarified one aspect of the situation. The kiss
landed on the side of my neck, sloppy and wine-scented, making
my cock and nipples harden nonetheless. We stood on the street
corner, just outside the circle of a gas lamp's glow, and I
found myself supporting the full weight of his frail, shaky
body.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"How old do I have to be?" Tran mumbled into my shoulder.
I liked that answer a lot. Even in extremis, this kid seemed
fairly perverse. I helped him find his car and loaded him into
it, drove him all the way out to his parents' house in East
New Orleans, kissed his cheek and watched him stumble into the
house. I left the car parked in the driveway and sat on the
curb until dawn, then walked back to the highway and caught
a bus downtown. People waiting for buses were routinely held
up at gunpoint out here. I didn't care. Tran's phone number
was scrawled on a piece of paper in my pocket, giving me a warm
feeling when I reached into my leather jacket and touched it.
The next day I dialed the number, half-expecting it to be a
fake. Tran answered, sounding slightly embarrassed, vastly grateful,
and not at all hung over. He told me he was nineteen -- a very
young-looking nineteen, I thought, but Oriental boys often looked
younger than their years. It was part of the exotic appeal they
had always held for me.
We arranged to meet that night in a French Quarter coffeehouse.
I bought Tran three iced lattes and invited him home for something
stronger. Back at my place, we spent a delicious hour kissing,
nuzzling, rolling around on the bed fully clothed, pressing
our hard-ons together through maddening layers of fabric. His
skin was pale golden, taut, silky-smooth; I could feel his ribs
and backbone through his shirt, his hipbones through his loose
button-fly jeans. Toward the end of the hour, Tran finally admitted
that he was a virgin.
The next week was the longest of my life, and the most sweetly
excruciating. I saw Tran every day, and knew we were going to
fuck soon, but not exactly when. It was like being in high school:
first base, second base, and so forth. My train of thought wandered
constantly -- he let me kiss his nipples last night, and his
belly, I got all the way down to the top of his pants and I
could feel what a raging boner he had, will he let me touch
it tonight, strip him naked, suck his cock, at least put his
hand on mine, OH GOD I WANNA BE INSIDE HIM SO BAD...
I had to jack off two or three times a day, shooting great
frustrated gobs of come onto my lonely chest and stomach, wondering
if I was in love. I'd been in love a few times, but never with
anyone I hadn't fucked first, and never so helplessly.
At first I couldn't figure out what was different about Tran,
why I'd fallen so hard for this particular cute Asian boy when
there were so many in the world. Part of it was the fact that
Tran hadn't been instantly attainable. He presented a challenge.
But the thrill of the chase couldn't account for our intimate,
intense conversations, or the part-protective, part-voracious
gnawing deep in my gut when our bodies interlocked, or the sense
of completion we felt in each other's company.
Spending so much time with Tran reminded me what it was like
to be nineteen: poised on the brink of your own life, wanting
to know everything, to experience all sensations. At that age,
everything was an adventure. Tran was like a raw nerve cell
in a world of constant sensory input. He felt things deeply,
laughed easily, got his feelings hurt often. He was at once
elated and terrified by his emerging sexuality, and I found
the combination exhilarating. I knew I would do anything for
Tran, even wait.
I didn't have to wait long. A week after the night of the party,
Tran showed up at my apartment with a wicked little gleam in
his almond eyes. He was dressed entirely in black: tight leggings,
hightop sneakers, a low-cut silk shirt that left most of his
smooth chest exposed.
"I want you to show me everything," he whispered
as I unbuttoned the soft shirt, untied the sneakers and slipped
them off his delicate feet, pulled the tight leggings over his
hips. My bedroom was illuminated with strands of Christmas lights,
and Tran's pale skin seemed to shimmer in the multicolored glow.
His hard cock bobbed up and kissed my lips. Its shaft was long
and slender, its head purple and swollen, with a pearl of pre-come
at the tip. I flicked it with my tongue and felt a long shudder
run through his body.
"Are you scared, baby?"
"A little..."
I slid up and cradled him, kissed the smooth curve of his eyelids,
the lush wetness of his mouth. "Thanks for being honest
with me. But I'm going to make you feel so good, your fear will
just melt away."
He tugged at the hem of my T-shirt. "Can you get naked
too? I want to feel your whole body against me."
I pulled the shirt over my head and kicked my jeans off. I
hardly ever wear underwear, and if I'd had them on now, I would
have been painfully confined: my cock was as hard as Tran's.
His eyes widened at the sight of my nine fat inches, and he
reached out tentative fingers to brush the head, which pumped
me up another notch. "God, Luke. You're so big!"
"Don't worry," I murmured, taking his hand and curling
his fingers more firmly around my throbbing shaft. "I think
we'll fit each other just right." He began to stroke me,
uncertainly at first, then faster and harder. I eased myself
down onto the bed and stretched out against him. Now our bodies
were pressed together full-length. Tran felt lithe and fragile-boned
in my embrace. My hand found his cock, teased the little ridge
of flesh at the base of the head, slid down its silken length
and gently cupped his balls. He moaned into my mouth. "Oooh.
That's good -- "
"You ain't felt nothin' yet." I kissed the hollow
of his throat, the V of his collarbone, tasting his clean salty
sweat. I rolled my tongue around his small cinnamon-colored
nipples, then sucked them until they were as hard as candies
in my mouth. Tran arched his back and clutched at my hair. My
tongue traced a wet path down his concave belly, around his
sharp hipbones and down the insides of his smooth splayed thighs.
I grabbed a condom from the nightstand, sheathed his cock, then
began to lick his softly furred balls and the luscious shaft
of his virgin love stick. I let my mouth slide over the head,
then took his whole pulsing cock deep into my throat and buried
my nose and lips in the crisp black fluff of his pubic hair.
He smelled incredibly fresh, like boy-sweat and baby powder.
I felt all his muscles convulse, heard him sobbing "Yes...ohhhh,
YES!" Then his back arched and his hot jizz flooded the
condom's reservoir tip. I milked his sweet cock dry, but when
I pulled the rubber off him, he was still at least half hard.
For a few minutes we lay curled in each other's arms, our tongues
exploring each other's mouths. Tran seemed semiconscious with
pleasure. But gradually he noticed the insistent pressure of
my swollen cock against his thigh. His hand crept back down
to stroke it. I let my tongue probe deep into his mouth. He
sucked at it eagerly, then broke the kiss and looked into my
eyes. His face was flushed, his breathing heavy. "Can I
do to you what you just did to me?" he asked.
I pretended to think about it. "Mmmm...I guess so."
Doubt shadowed Tran's face, and I realized it wasn't fair to
tease him, not this first time. "Lover," I whispered,
"there's nothing in the world I want more than your beautiful
mouth on my dick, right now." Even as I spoke, I was rolling
a condom over my cock in preparation for anything that might
happen.
Tran gave me a dazzling grin, one that lit up his dark eyes
and gave his elegant-boned face a pixieish look. Then, without
further ado, he bent to my cock and wrapped his lips around
its engorged head. His slick tongue traced the veins of my shaft,
lapped at my hairy balls, trailed slowly back up to the very
tip. Gradually he took my cock into his hot mouth, swallowing
me a couple of inches at a time, pausing to let his throat relax,
then taking me deeper. The silken tunnel of his esophagus felt
mind-blowingly good around my hard meat. Tran had never sucked
cock before, but he was a natural.
I let him suck me at his own pace until I felt orgasmic pressure
building up in my balls, then reached down and ran my fingers
through his thick black buzz cut. The coarse hair stood up spikily,
greased with sweat and hair gel. He stopped sucking and turned
inquiring eyes up to me. I pulled him up and hugged him against
my chest, savoring the smooth warmth of his skin, the fluid
grace of his muscles. He was so much smaller than me, I wondered
whether fucking would hurt him...but earlier in the week, during
one of our make-out sessions, he'd ground his ass against my
knee hard enough to leave a bruise. I was pretty sure what the
answer would be when I asked, "Do you want me to fuck you?"
The dazzling grin again, tinged with fear this time, but oh,
so grateful. "Oh, Luke...I want you inside me so bad. I've
hardly thought about anything else since the night we met."
"Yeah?" I looked deep into his eyes, elongated black
pools flecked with the colored pinpoints of the Christmas lights.
"Did you lie in bed thinking about it? About how good it
would feel when I oiled up my cock and slid it deep into your
sweet ass?"
"Yesss..." He wriggled in my arms. My fingers strayed
down his back, into his hairless asscrack. Tran's sharp intake
of breath reaffirmed his desire. My hard-on pulsed in time with
his heartbeat. My middle finger found the tight bud of his asshole
and made light, teasing circles around it. Tran groaned and
writhed, trying to impale himself on me. But for a trace of
sweat, he was dry. I sat up and rolled him over, began kissing
the nape of his neck, the nubs of his spine, the sleek curve
of his buttocks. I kneaded his tender assflesh with my hands,
then spread his cheeks wide and dipped my tongue into his honey-sweet
furrow. When I licked the puckered whorl of his love hole, an
electric shock seemed to run through his body. He tasted spicy,
tangy, very clean. Soon his ass was wet and open to me.
There was already a tube of lubricant on the nightstand from
my recent masturbatory marathons. I warmed the lube in my hand,
let it melt over my fingers, massaged it up and down the length
of Tran's crack until the pale half-moons of his inner butt
cheeks glistened. Very slowly, I sank a finger into him. He
lay still, breathing shallowly, letting me take him by millimeters.
With my free hand I poured more lubricant onto my boner. Sparkling
droplets fell on his upturned ass. I turned him over again,
grasped his ankles and pulled his legs up until they were wrapped
around my waist.
"I want to look into your beautiful face as I enter you,"
I told him. "I want to taste your mouth, to see the pleasure
in your eyes. And the pain."
"I want it," he gasped. "The pain. Everything."
I pressed the head of my lubed, latex-sheathed cock against
his asshole. My hands cradled the firm globes of his buttocks.
I eased my hips forward, and the head of my cock sank into his
virgin sphincter.
"Luke, Luke!" His nails clawed thin red furrows down
my back. "Put it in! Oh, God, please fuck me!"
I lowered myself onto him, and the full length of my aching
cock slid slowly into the molten depths of his gut. He was so
tight, so wet; the inside of his ass felt like a giant strong
heart beating around me. His thighs were clamped around my waist,
his arms wrapped around my neck. He made little whimpering sounds,
licked sweat off my chin. When I kissed him, his mouth was so
hot I thought it might start steaming.
Gradually I increased the tempo of my thrusts. Tran began to
relax and move with me, creating a delicious rippling motion
up and down the shaft of my cock. Soon I was clutching him hard,
staring into his face and fucking him deep. Our skin was sheened
with sweat, our muscles pulled tight as violin strings, our
bodies utterly in sync. I felt his cock getting hard again,
throbbing against my stomach.
"You like that, baby?" I groaned.
Tran could only gasp his assent as I impaled him again and
again. My hand was still slippery with lubricant, so I slid
it between our bodies and started jacking him off. At the height
of my every thrust, I squeezed the head of his cock as I pressed
my own cock against his prostate. I could feel the little gland
awakening, responding to my touch. Tran's eyes began to go crazy
with pleasure. He clutched at my ass, rocked his hips back and
forth, pulled me deeper and deeper into his slick ringed tunnel.
"OH! LUKE! I -- I -- OHHHHH -- "
Tran's hands clawed at the sheets, at his chest, pinching his
nipples hard. I lowered my head and sucked first one, then the
other, pulling them into my mouth and teasing them with the
edges of my teeth. Tran's litany of pleasure became an inarticulate
shriek. His cock trembled in my hand as he began to come. Streaks
of his pearlescent cream hit my chest, dripped off of me, onto
his stomach. I felt his balls spasming again and again as the
voluminous orgasm poured from him, drenching us. Tran's smooth
eyelids fluttered. I held him as tight as I could, thrust into
him as deep as I could, and let myself shoot too. The jizz seemed
to pump from the deepest root of my cock, down between my balls
and my asshole, and stream up through my shaft in a blazing
column of joy.
We lay in each other's arms for a long time, our breathing
and our heartbeats slowing from fever pitch to something approaching
normal. My cock slid out of him, and I pulled off the rubber,
which was more than half full of my thick white come. Tran took
it from me and held it up to the Christmas lights. "It's
like a skin full of pearls and precious gems."
I pulled him closer, into the protective curve of my body.
"All for you, baby."
"It's the best gift anyone ever gave me," my beautiful
boy murmured against my shoulder. Then we were silent, sinking
into a sated reverie. Tran was right, I realized; this journey
to the hot inner realms of man love was the best gift he'd ever
gotten, because I could keep giving it to him again and again.
And you can bet I still am. |
