All Together (The All Trilogy)

PREFACE

I guess the first thing I’d better do is warn you, this book isn’t for kids—or little old ladies—or even enlightened straights who think it’s cute or fashionable to have a cocksucker or two on their guest list. Nor is this a book for the kind of guy who thinks of himself as a woman trapped in a man’s body.

This book is about me—Warren Miller—and all of the things that happened to me after I discovered—one night in a dark back alley—after twenty-seven years of thinking I was normal—that I could get turned-on by the sight of another man’s naked body!

And from all I can tell, I must be quite different from just about anybody you’ve ever known. Because when it happened, I didn’t suddenly panic and try to kill the guy—I didn’t get all hung-up with guilt and try to kill myself—I didn’t decide I’d been born queer and had to make the best of it—and I sure as hell didn’t decide that now I had to start calling myself Mary, or Warrina! When it happened, I accepted it. Once I’d thought about it, I realized it was nowhere near as bad as I’d heard, and so I decided to find out as much as I could about this new me I’d discovered.

And that’s exactly what I did.

So if you’re looking for something beautiful or uplifting you’d better stick with Reader’s Digest, or The Ladies’ Home Companion—because some of the things that happened got pretty wild! And that’s putting it mildly.

But, don’t you see, if just one guy reads my story, about what happened to me when I found out about myself—and about people and the crazy things they think and do—if it helps just that one guy to understand himself better, if it helps him live with himself and the rest of the world, then it really doesn’t matter how many snobs and prudes and Puritans get upset by it, does it? I mean, that’s how I feel about it.

The thing is, there are so damned many things in this world that people don’t understand, and as a result, they’re scared to death of them. But I found out that some of those things aren’t nearly as terrible or as dirty as we were all taught to believe they were. So, knowing that, it didn’t really upset me when somebody called me queer or perverted, or a "sinner," because that’s how they were taught to think about people like me. That’s how I was taught to think. We all were.

There are too many things we don’t understand.

It’s really crazy, you know? Here we’ve just put a man on the Moon, and you think for a minute about all the brains and money and guts it took to get him there. Okay, now consider how much money and energy gets put into figuring out what’s happening inside people’s heads. Inside your brain and mine. Shit! There’s no comparison. And, I’ll tell you quite frankly, it’s one man’s opinion that that’s what’s wrong with the world. Just remember, most of our laws and morals are still based on The "Holy Bible," and that was written in a time that everybody knew the earth was flat—and the center of the universe.

I mean, it really doesn’t matter how well-intentioned or good-hearted he is, if a Preacher or one of those head-shrinkers tells me I’m wrong or sick to live like I do, to me he’s as old-fashioned as some guy still claiming that the moon is made of green cheese. (Green cheese is white, you know.)

Well, I don’t want to start philosophizing; I just hope that some day, somehow, we can get rid of all the bullshit and start to find out what Human Being really is. Maybe then we can stop hating ourselves and each other, and start respecting each other—and ourselves! Maybe we can stop thinking that it’s almost as bad for a man to have sex with another man as it is for him to kill that guy.

And maybe someday we can learn what it really means to love somebody and not just have the hots for them.

Sorry! Sometimes I get carried away...

I just wanted you to see that I’m not a Shakespeare or some PhD author. I just say what I mean. Like a cock is a cock is a cock—and it feels damned good to have it sucked—or to get it up inside some guy’s nice, warm, tight asshole.

And if that shocks or offends you, please do us both a favor and stop right here.

CHAPTER ONE

It was Saturday night. Festering, fly-buzzing, latrine-smelling, whiskey with beer chasers, horny, miserable Saturday night. In Gorman, Colorado. You’ve never heard of it; it barely exists. It’s a turn in the road, a gas station, an IGA grocery store, The Palace Motel, a few other buildings and a bar called Red’s Place. I mean, it’s Cow Country out there, very Old West, and even Marlboros are considered sissy cigarettes. Camels and Luckies—and roll-your-own, of course. Lots of Bull Durham.

I was drunk, and lonely, and pissed off at everything, especially myself, wondering for the ten-thousandth time what the fuck I was doing in Gorman, Colorado? A goddamn, fucking cowboy with half a college education, shoveling cow manure and branding calves and fixing fences and screwing ugly fat whores—when something real was happening out there in the world where I wanted to be.

Hey, Warren!

Charlie Davis grabbed my arm and leaned up to me, stinking of whiskey, giving me a fiendish, rotten-toothed grin. Wanna have some fun, man? He jerked his head toward the back. "We got us a queer out in the alley and we’re gonna work him over!"

A what?

"You heard me! A faggot! A cocksucker! He leaned even closer, with his arm sickeningly tight around my shoulder, and whispered Old Bill got ‘im out there. Told the queer he could suck that big dick of his! He sniggered like a school kid saying his first dirty word. We’re gonna work him over, man, c’mon!"

He reeled off toward the back door.

Others were going out and I could hear drunken laughter from outside.

Something cold in my guts told me to sit still. Get drunker. Pay no attention. Mel, behind the bar, was looking worried. He didn’t look like he wanted to stop whatever was happening; he looked like he was afraid it might give the place a bad reputation, the fact that a queer had been in it at all—and was still near it, right now, out in the alley.

Like I said, I was drunk, first of all, and pissed-off at the world. Watching Mel, listening to those drunken voices outside, I got mad. It wasn’t like I was filled with righteous indignation, or had something going about civil rights—I just plain got mad. I told myself that it would be the same thing if a bunch of shit-for-brains cowhands and farm boys decided to beat up a cripple or a spastic, or anyone who couldn’t defend himself. It wasn’t fair.

So I went out the back door.

There were at least a dozen of them—at first only dim shadows in the darkness of the alley—bending over a young-looking guy they were holding down. It was easy to see what had happened. He was still kneeling; they’d caught him like that, taken him by surprise, while he was getting ready to suck—or maybe was already sucking—Bill Thorne’s famous prick. They had him bent in a painful arch backward, and Bill, still wearing his greasy coveralls from the garage, was standing with his legs spread wide, his coveralls open, holding his limp cock, sort of waving it back and forth in front of the guy’s face.

I couldn’t help thinking that, even flaccid, Bill’s cock was almost as big as mine was, hard—and I was considered fairly well-hung.

Suddenly piss spurted out of the big cherry-head, right into the guy’s face. He gagged and tried to jerk away, but they held him tight and laughed, pulling back out of the way themselves, snorting, bellowing, like it was the funniest thing in the world, Bill Thorne pissing on some helpless queer. Bill aimed the stuff up into his hair, and face, into his eyes, down over his tight-clamped lips; it splashed and dribbled down into his clothing, over his chest and stomach.

Someone growled Let’s castrate the sonofabitch!

Yeah! Cut his fuckin’ queer nuts off!

Bill grunted as he forced the last spurts of piss out, then leaned back, working the toe of his boot into the guy’s crotch. Should we do that, huh? Cut y’r goddamn nuts off? Huh?. Queers don’t need nuts anyway. He shoved the guy’s chest, pushing him all the way back so his shoulders were pressed into the cinders and broken glass of the alley. Hold him that way. he commanded.

Hands clasped and held him.

Bill grabbed the guy’s belt buckle and wrenched it open, then ripped at the fly of his Levis, jerked them down to his knees. He wasn’t wearing shorts.

Some of the men moved in to where they could see better—or shuffled around because they were nervous, or embarrassed, or scared—anyway, someone moved out of the way of a dim light seeping in from the street, and I saw the guy they were holding down, clearly, for the first time. My entire body went cold as ice. Freezing sweat tingled all over me. I felt like someone had just kicked me squarely in the nuts, like I might throw up or pass out, or just melt, right there. Because—it was like looking down at myself! He looked slightly younger—or maybe just healthier— but he could have been my twin—my brother—me!

Blond. Blue eyes. His naked thighs were tanned and covered with golden-reddish hair. His chest was broad, with the same golden hair on it, narrowing into a line pointing to his crotch. Even his cock looked like mine.

He didn’t look like any queer I’d ever seen.

Not unless. . . .

You could tell the poor bastard was scared half out of his mind. The veins in his temples and up the sides of his throat were throbbing wildly. He wasn’t trying to help himself. He didn’t move. Bent double backwards like that, maybe he couldn’t, but I guessed he knew that trying to resist them would only get them that much more excited and determined.

Then his eyes narrowed and I heard him whisper Oh...God!

I looked up. Bill Thorne was standing there, grinning, opening a big, greasy, rusted blade of a pocket knife.

I glanced around at the others. They were all silent, now, all watching Bill. I had known most of these men for more than a year, worked side-by-side with three of them on the ranch, but they were strangers now. Ugly, nasty strangers. Completely enthralled by the idea of what was about to happen. Excited by their own fears.

Castration! No man alive has escaped the secret terror and excitement of wondering: What would it be like?

No! The sharpness of my voice startled me as I stepped between Bill and the queer. Bill looked up at me, still grinning—his face was uglier than anything I’ve ever seen. For a year I’d thought of Bill as my best friend, but I’d never seen that look on his face before. Not that!

Bill grunted, and his grin got even uglier. Get out of the way, Warren.

No! You’re not going to do it.

You gonna stop me?

Yes! Listen, for Christ’s sake, if you. . .. Arms gabbed me from behind, dragging me backward. Charlie and Abner held my arms pinned behind me.

Bill dropped to his knees and gathered the guy’s balls into his dirty hand, pulled them tight.

A voice in my ear—hot, reeking—said Go ahead, Bill...cut ’em off!

My elbow went back, hard into Charlie’s guts. I wrenched free from Abner, leaped at Bill—and suddenly he was sprawling on his back, glaring up at me, growling like an animal, clutching the knife!

"Bill, goddammit! Listen to me! You cut him with that knife and he’ll die! You know that? It’ll kill him! He’ll bleed to death! He’ll get infected! He’ll die! Do you want that on your conscience? Do you want to go to jail for that?"

He was struggling up, obviously wishing he could knock the shit out of me! "He’s a queer!"

I don’t give a fuck if he’s Jack the Ripper! They’d come after you for killing him! Jesus, Bill, do you want to rot in prison for killing some stupid fairy? I turned to the others behind me. "Do you guys want to be accessories? You could go to jail for not stopping him. You want that?"

They turned their eyes away from mine.

Bill’s big hand was on my arm, squeezing painfully. Okay, Miller, he said slowly. "Okay. You made your point. What do you think we ought to do with him, just let him go? Huh? Just turn the cocksucker loose? Jesus Christ, man, the faggot grabbed my cock in the men’s room!"

I wanted desperately to say Yes! Let him go! but I knew I could never face any of these men again if I did. (Warren Miller, queer-lover.)

Half of them were already thinking it. But they were relieved—I could tell that; the fear had gone—but they still wanted their fun. I’d spoiled that for them. They still wanted to work him over. And Bill had put me in charge of whatever torment the poor guy would receive.

I glanced down at him and found his blue eyes staring straight up into mine—with no expression at all on his face—waiting. The way they were holding him had ripped his shirt open and the sight of that young, hard body sent impossible chills all over me! I looked up again and found them all staring at me. A hundred things raced through my brain: begging them to let him go—fighting all of them as I yelled at him Run, you idiot, run!—walking away, saying I don’t give a fuck—but nothing was right, nothing would work to save the poor bastard as long as the men were still excited, needing to finish something.

Let’s fuck him. I forced myself to laugh—a crude, obscene cackle—and leaned down over him. I hated myself, doing it, but a new excitement had flared up inside me, deep in my guts and groin. Hey... I grabbed his firm chin and tilted it up. You’re queer, right? Queers love to get fucked, am I right? How would you like to be the happiest faggot on earth tonight?

His eyes met mine for just a second, a split second in which we communicated, and I knew that he understood what I was trying to do for him. Then, dramatically, as though the idea terrified him, he shook his head wildly. "No! Please! I can’t take it that way! I’ll suck you all off—all of you! But please don’t fuck me!"

I slapped him—and my stomach lurched at the loud ugly sound it made. You have got nothing to say about it. So you just shut your cocksucking mouth. I stood up, forcing a huge grin on my face, and turned to Bill. Okay?

He looked like he wanted to kill me, but he muttered Okay. His eyes moved quickly around all the men’s faces. Yeah, okay, we fuck him. All of us. Maybe two or three times.

No, please! the guy yelled. I can’t take it that way!

Suddenly Bill was kneeling over him, pinning him down; he grabbed the guy’s hair, pulled it back, put his face down close, almost touching, and growled, Now you listen, you cocksucker, you’re getting off mighty damn lucky, you know that? He jerked at the hair. So you just shut up, and I mean that. Understand?

Their faces were so close it looked like Bill was going to kiss him. It looked like he wasn’t angry at all, but wanted to cup the man’s face in his hands and kiss him. Then he leaned back and looked around. Not here. Let’s find a better place. He grabbed the man’s shirt and lifted him up onto his feet. Where can we fuck ‘im? Miller? Find someplace.

They followed me further back into the alley, deeper into the shadows, until I almost stumbled over Mel’s old, discarded water heater, lying on its side. Here, I said. Put him over this and tie him down.

They shoved him belly-down onto the white enameled cylinder and Abner Jones pulled his torn shirt off and ripped it up to make ties. My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t even hear the cloth tearing. I could hear voices, but the words didn’t make sense. My own cock was stiff in my pants as I watched them tie him down, his feet and arms spread wide around the heater. All I could do was stare at his bare ass, firm, almost white, rising up in those twin mounds, tight-curled hair in the split—and his balls hanging down, one on each side of his hard cock, which pointed painfully at the ground. I’d never fucked a man before, and I couldn’t understand why I was getting so excited. But all I could think of was getting inside him. Up into him completely!

I felt a hand on my arm and turned to see Bill Thorne, grinning. It’s your show, he said. Get it going. He pushed me forward.

Trembling, scared out of my wits, I unbuckled my belt, opened my fly, reached in and cupped my hand over my cock to hide the fact that it was already hard. Then I was over him, greasing my cock with spit, pulling those two warm cheeks of his ass apart. I found the tight-puckered hole—and eased the head of my cock inside. I could hear him suck in a deep breath as I hovered a moment, then plunged my cock all the way into him. His body convulsed and he choked back a scream—but his ass reared up to meet my hips—and I sank into the most delicious darkness and heat I had ever known! Suddenly, the entire world seem to condense into my body; my guts became pure heat that gathered and contracted and then exploded like a geyser out of my cock into him. I heard myself crying Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! Oh, my God! And my hot cum squirted again and again, deep inside his body.

Suddenly, Bill’s hand was on my back and I heard him saying "Atta boy, Miller! Fuck his ass! Show him what it’s like to be fucked by a real man! Fuck his queer ass, you sonofabitch! Don’t even slow up!"

It was all I could do to move, but I understood what Bill was trying to tell me: I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t let anyone know I’d come so quickly. I had to keep going.

I forced myself up, wondering how on earth I could do it—but the wet heat embracing my cock seemed to blossom and contract, and my hips started moving again, all by themselves. His hot flesh writhed around my cock, mulled it, tugged at it—this bastard knew what he was doing—and the feeling was something I’d never felt before; it was as though I hadn’t come at all, as though I had only paused to catch my breath, and was still building toward that sweet explosion, and each suck of his gut pulled me deeper into him, made my cock harder—fuller and bigger than I ever remembered it feeling!

I had never felt anything like it before in my life. No cunt had ever done that for me. I had never been so deep or so warm or so incredibly sweet, ever! And so, I fucked him again, as though I had never fucked before, like a virgin, deep and hard and delicious!

When I felt myself right on the verge of coming, I stopped pumping and fell over him, over his naked back, clutching his muscular arms, pressing my face against his neck, and his ass contracted around my cock like a thousand fluttering fingers, teasing and tugging with incredible sweetness, until I exploded again!

Then, I watched them all fuck him—Jim Price and Johnny Welch, both from the same ranch I worked on. Charlie and Abner. The Morrison kid, home on leave, with his blue Air Force uniform so tight over his ass you could see the lines of his shorts. Sy Coleman, Tom Seaton, the Timothy brothers, with cocks that looked identical. Mort Waterhouse, holding his fat belly up to get his poor little peter inside at all. Ed Granger’s snot-nosed high-school kid, too scared to come, even with the Morrison boy egging him on, telling him how. I was sure he finally faked it. Even Mel came out for his turn, carefully spreading his apron across the guy’s back so he wouldn’t get his clean white shirt all sweaty.

And then, Bill.

Bill Thorne was big, and so was his cock. I’d even heard one of the whores complain that it was too big, too fat, and too long for comfort. But, Jesus, it was exciting, just to look at it! Bill had the cock that every man alive wishes he had been born with.

I remembered a dream I’d had, several times, of Bill coming after me, his cock swinging out of his pants like a gigantic pendulum, laughing, calling Wait for me, Warren. Don’t run away, Warren, wait for me. I won’t hurt you. Wait for me!

Now he stood over the queer, his coveralls open all the way, milking his prick harder and longer, as though getting a tool primed and prepped for a job. Finally, it stood up from his crotch like the limb of a tree. The guy’s asshole was already stretched wide, but Bill had to force the head of his prick into it. As the head popped in, Bill made a long growling noise in his throat and then grabbed the guy’s hips with both hands and drove his own hips forward and downward, sucking air through his mouth, groaning as his cock vanished into the body beneath him. I could almost feel it! Sinking deeper and deeper and deeper into that hot hole, greased by the cum of twelve other men! The queer was sobbing and moaning as his young body trembled and jerked, and the sounds mixed with Bill’s deep primitive growling like some strange kind of singing.

We were all watching, hypnotized, but I felt eyes on me—hard, boring into me—and I glanced up to see Bill watching me, watching my eyes as he fucked. For a second our eyes locked, and my guts seemed to open up; my body tingled as I thought: That’s me he’s fucking!

Then with a wild snort, Bill plunged his big prick all the way to its hilt; the body beneath him stiffened, then seemed to sag into unconsciousness.

Bill became a fuck-machine, his head back, his eyes closed, making wild little noises in his throat as though this might be the very first time he’d had his cock all the way into anything. Slapping his bull-balls against the water heater with each furious drive. Snorting, gasping, trying to shove his entire body inside the guy. Moaning Oh...oh...oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Oh, my God! Yes! Then he whimpered like a little kid with each convulsion as he totally emptied his big balls into the unconscious body beneath him.

Slowly Bill eased his dwindling prick out, shining, greased with our collective semen. As he stripped it, flipped the last of the white gobs onto the bruised white buttocks, he glowered at me. Then he turned to the others, stuffing his cock back into his coveralls. Okay, party’s over, let’s get outa here.

Ed Granger’s boy sniggered and the Morrison kid—pointedly fondling an empty beer bottle—sneered Shit, Bill, we was just gittin’ started.

Bill snapped "I said, let’s get the fuck out of here. You hear me?"

Andy Morrison whined But, hell, Bill. . ..

But hell Bill, nothing. You want to get yourself busted outa that tight-ass uniform, boy? We had our fun. Now I’m gonna go inside and have me a beer, okay? He turned as though looking around at the others, but his eyes riveted on me. And in a minute, I’m gonna call the sheriff and tell him we kind of heard some rough stuff going on out here, and would he come check it out? That way if he’s hurt...—he paused and looked down at the unconscious body, then up at me again—"they can get him to a doctor—or just plain get his ass outa town. Okay?"

I nodded.

Okay, come on. He took Andy Morrison’s arm and hauled him around. I’ll even buy you a drink, okay? Shit, I’ll buy us all a drink! We earned it, right?

They all yelled "Right!" and trooped inside, everybody laughing and agreeing that they’d sure as hell earned a good drink, fucking that queer.

I wanted to kill them all, but I couldn’t move.

At the back door, Bill ushered them inside, then glanced back at me. The light was coming from behind him, so I couldn’t see his face, but I knew the look he was giving me. He was saying Goodbye.

He was saying Get your ass outa town, Warren Miller, and take your queer with you, and don’t ever come back. Or we’ll do even worse to you.

I’d learned something that night: It was dangerous business, getting too close to another man—because it might open some new doors in your head that you didn’t want opened. Tonight, some doors had been opened for both Bill and me, but Bill was slamming his closed again. He had figured—and probably rightly—that I was the only one who might guess how much he’d enjoyed fucking another man, and how much that scared him. He didn’t want me around to remind him.

As for my own doors, I wasn’t at all sure they could ever be closed again, even if I wanted them to be.

CHAPTER TWO

Half hauling, half dragging him through the alley, I managed to get him to where my battered old pickup was parked. It was on the street, not far from the entrance of Red’s, but they were all crowded around the bar, inside, drinking the beer Bill had bought them. I got him into the truck unnoticed.

But I had no idea what to do next. Did he have a car? Was he staying with relatives in town? At the motel? Just passing through? Hey! I shook him, gently at first, then roughly. "Hey! Are you staying with anybody?"

Mmmh....

Do you have a car?

Nut nny muh.

Listen, dammit, I’m trying to help you!

Mnnnnnh.

What?

Mnn-nee!

Money?

His hand fluttered up and made an attempt to pat where his shirt pocket should have been. He was surprised at finding bare flesh there, and for a moment his eyes opened and he stared down at his hand. Then he sighed and leaned back and passed out again.

I managed to extract his wallet from his back pocket, and found a driver’s license, some credit and insurance cards. His name was Bradley Eugene Nelson. (Bradley E. on his credit cards, and BRAD in worn-out gold-leaf on his wallet), and he was twenty-seven years old ( my own age). His driver’s license was from California; his picture on it looked like a prison mug-shot; and apparently he’d moved a dozen times since the thing was issued, because there were at least that many addresses typed and crossed out on the back of the license.

I was getting spooked, sitting there, trying to decide what to do. I could imagine someone from the bar going out into the alley and finding him gone, then telling the others, and all of them coming out to look for us. Or the sheriff, answering Bill’s call, coming out of the alley and finding us sitting here. I decided to make one stop—take one more chance—and then get to hell out of Gorman, Colorado, no matter what.

At the Palace Motel, Mrs. Vogel studied me, sucking her lip, fiddling with her glasses, trying to decide what to do.

"Yes, a Mr. Nelson is staying with us, but...I just don’t know if I should, Warren. Just let you go get his things. I mean, legally. Where is he?"

Out in my pickup, Mrs. Vogel. He’s so drunk, I can’t wake him up. Look, you can see him out there. I pointed out the window. I promised him I’d get him on the midnight bus in Greeley, and we’ve got to get going or we won’t make it. He can sleep it off on the bus, on the way home.

Well...all right. I shouldn’t, you know. It isn’t legal. But seeings I know you...go ahead. But first, he owes...let me see...eighteen sixty-five. One night, plus one call to San Francisco, California.

I gave her a twenty and told her to keep the change for her trouble, then went through his room like a madman, stuffing everything I could find into his one suitcase, not bothering to fold anything. In the bathroom I found an anal syringe sitting next to his shaving kit on the toilet top. That explained a number of things. I shoved the kit into the suitcase and zipped it shut.

Mrs. Vogel was watching sternly behind her office window as I carried his suitcase to the pickup and tossed it in back. I waved and she wiggled her fingers.

Brad was still slumped against the window, looking like a corpse I’d picked up from a highway accident. His face was smeared with dirt and grease, dry piss and rust—which looked like dried blood—and his blond hair was matted with dirt and cinders. I’d put my own jacket around his shoulders, but it had slipped down, and from the street he looked naked—and dead.

I headed the pickup west out of town, toward Denver and Greeley. He had called San Francisco from the hotel; several of the addresses on the back of his license had been in San Francisco. I decided it was a good bet that he was headed there.

Once away from the last of the farmhouses, I stopped and pulled the jacket up over his shoulders, held my hand against his chest to make sure his heart was still beating—touching his warm flesh was like an electrical shock—then took off again toward Greeley.

It was one of the longest, most desolate drives I could remember. Nothing seemed real. Outside, the darkness was complete. It was cloudy with no moon or stars. There should have been foothills and trees, but instead it was only impenetrable blackness. The lights of the Chevy picked out the narrow highway, maybe fifty feet ahead, but that too was black. Inside the cab, light seeped down from behind the dash, through dangling wires, dimly illuminating the two of us. Nothing seemed real.

I was trying to put it together, trying to make some kind of sense of what had happened. Looking at him now, he didn’t really look like me or my brother. Superficially, under the muck, maybe, a little—but I doubted that anyone would confuse the two of us. (Except—Bill Thorne had noticed. Bill had seen the resemblance, I was sure of it. That one look he had given me let me know that was me under him.) He was a good-looking guy, no doubt of it. Not really handsome, more rugged looking. Exciting. Sexy. But what the hell! I’d never flipped-out over a guy before. Never! I mean, sure, I’d had my share of experiences, getting my cock sucked by a queer in high-school, plus a couple of times in the Army. But none of those had been anything like tonight. A couple of years ago, one guy had followed me from a park, halfway across Chicago, all the way up to my hotel room, to ask if he could blow me. For five bucks. Sure, fine. Five bucks, and my nuts were aching anyway because I hadn’t scored for a month. Just lay back and let him suck, get his kicks, saved me the trouble of jerking it off. But this...

I’d felt something! Not just the need to get my rocks off, but something else—and I couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. There was some kind of—what was the word—rapport between us. But that was nonsense. I’d never even seen the guy before.

But there was...something!

It was no use pretending that I’d been too drunk, or got carried away, or that Bill Thorne had forced me. I’d come to the aid of this guy—knowing he was queer—and had not only saved him from getting his nuts cut off, but had fucked him across a discarded water-heater in a dark alley—fucked him and come into him, not once, but twice! It hadn’t been just a physical sensation. There had been more!

And that scared me.

Right now, back in Gorman, all the other guys were sitting around in Red’s, getting drunker and drunker, laughing about that queer they had gang-fucked. Half of them were married, with kids, but it wouldn’t bother them one bit—no more than jacking off in the bathroom when the old lady was too tired.

God! How well I remembered that.

Please, Warren, not tonight. It’s been a terrible day and I’ve got a splitting headache. Good old too-tired Janet. Whatever became of her? At least we never got married or had any kids. How could we? She was always too tired. And careful. "No, Warren, let’s make sure. I mean, let’s make sure we’re ready for children." I’d assumed she had meant when we could afford a family, but now I began to suspect she might have meant something else. Had she seen something in me that I hadn’t noticed in myself? They say a woman can spot a queer easier than men can. Had Janet seen something in me, even that long ago, that had made her think I wasn’t good husband/father-material? Had I been one of those—what were they called—repressed homosexuals?

Come to think of it, Miller, you weren’t exactly depressed when you split up. In fact, you called Ken and celebrated. No women tonight, Ken. Not tonight. Maybe never. I’ve had enough of women to last me a lifetime!

That’s another thing, isn’t it? Ken Johnson. There for awhile, you couldn’t take a piss without asking Ken’s permission. But then he got married and you felt like he’d kicked you in the head. Didn’t even warn you he was going to do it. Was he getting away from a repressed homosexual?

Was that why I’d quit college? It was right after his wedding I’d decided I’d had enough of academe, with all the stuffed shirts and the pompous assholes who supposedly knew absolutely everything about everything, but didn’t know shit about reality. You couldn’t learn anything from those people; you couldn’t even have a real conversation with them. I wanted to find out what the real world was about. Somehow I’d ended up in God-forsaken Gorman, Colorado.

Where my best friend for a year also turns out to be a repressed homosexual!

What kind of crazy world is it when suddenly, one night, in a filthy alley behind a stinking bar in a one-horse cow-town in the middle of nowhere, a whole life can be changed? Like that! Out of the thousands of men I had met in my life, why had this one come along tonight?

I turned to look at him, slumped against the window like a dead man—and it happened again! A warm flush seemed to start on the top of my head and spread down over my body as I studied him. I knew there was something special about this man, lying there completely vulnerable, filled with the semen of thirteen men! There was a connection between us. Whether or not I wanted to admit it, it seemed I’d been waiting all my life to meet Bradley Eugene Nelson—with his tight, hard body and rugged, good-looking face—because he knew some sort of secret he could tell me about myself, a secret that would let me know who I was, and what the whole stupid mess called my life was all about.

I knew that all I had to do was reach out to him, reach out and touch him—touch his leg, so tight and warm, the muscle so firm under my hand—and I would know what that secret was.

I moved my hand up, very slowly, timidly, to where I could feel the soft lump of his cock under the denim. He moaned very quietly and nuzzled his crotch up into my hand. I closed my fingers around his penis and thought Only queers do this! The soft lump stirred like a living thing and started to grow between my fingers. It lengthened and hardened until I could feel his blood pulsing through it, feel the little spasms pass from his groin to the head, feeling the same thrilling spasms encouraging my own cock! Each enlargement of his cock got mine harder, and made the tingling more and more intense. It felt good! Holding his hard cock as I drove through the darkness made me feel good! Touching his body made my body feel alive!

Then the lights of Greeley edged up over the top of a long hill.

I stopped at the first motel on the road, a run-down place called Bide-A-Wee. After I’d unlocked the door to our room and unloaded his suitcase, I went around and cautiously opened his door of the truck. He sat up suddenly, his eyes wide, darting around, finally turning to study me. You’re the one, aren’t you?

The one what?

You saved my life...

It’s okay. We’re sixty miles away from there.

What? Listen, I’ve got...

I put my hand on his arm. Relax. I got all your clothes from the motel. And I paid your bill, so everything’s okay. Come on. I got us a room where you can clean up.

With obvious reluctance, he followed me into the little room—limping painfully—and then sat on the bed and watched me lock the door and pull the window shades. In the bathroom I pissed, then washed my crotch using one of the motel’s little white towels. He was staring at the floor when I came out, but then looked up and tilted his head quizzically as he studied me.

Why? he asked.

Why what?

Why did you do it?

Stop them?

"Well, yes, but then you also got my stuff, paid my bill, drove me here—wherever the hell here is...

We’re on the outskirts of Greeley.

"Why?"

I shrugged. I figured somebody had to do it. You had yourself in a real mess, back there.

God! That was so dumb! So fucking stupid! What was I thinking? I saw that big guy this afternoon at the gas station. I was hoping he’d be at the bar, you know? I cleaned up, then went to that bar. I got drunk, waiting for him to show up, but...my God! He shook his head, remembering what he had done, then studied me for a moment. I wish I knew what to say. I want to thank you, but I also want to yell at you. You were as crazy as I was!

I got you here, didn’t I? I laughed. "I got us both here."

Yes, but why? he insisted.

"I don’t know. What difference does it make? Because! I just did. Listen, why don’t you clean up. There’s a shower in the bathroom. Aren’t you sore, or anything?"

He snorted and started to laugh, then cringed. Oooh! Only when I move. He grinned at me and took a deep breath. It will pass. He laughed again, then grimaced. I’ll be okay.

I put my arm around him and helped him onto his feet, then into the bathroom. In the mirror he scowled painfully as he contemplated himself. His reflection looked at me and grinned. I don’t feel as bad as I look. Is this blood?

I think it’s rust.

He studied me in the mirror for a long time, frowning thoughtfully, then turned to face me directly. We look alike, he said very softly.

I know.

That’s...remarkable. We look.... What’s your name?

Warren. Warren Miller.

Warren? Thank you. I mean, for everything. I don’t understand why, but thanks, anyway.

Yeah, well, don’t worry about it. Hey, get cleaned up, you look awful! If somebody came in here now, they’d think I’d been beating up on you or something.

"Did they all fuck me?"

Yes.

He chuckled. Well, then, if you’ll excuse me...

What?

Go away so I can get rid of it.

I felt my face go bright scarlet, then I pivoted around and went out.

I’m shy! he called as I closed the door.

He turned on the water in the tub.

I lay on the sagging bed, listening to the roar of the water and the hum of the pipes, thinking about all that had happened, and how crazy it was for me to be here in a cheap motel, waiting for a man I barely knew to flush himself free of more than a dozen loads of cum. Waiting for him to wash the piss and dirt from his body, so he could come out and tell me that I was a repressed homosexual!

I wondered what they were doing now, back in Red’s. Jim and Johnny would be the first to wonder what had happened to me. Would they go back to the ranch and tell the others? Miller’s run off with a queer. Would anyone say Shit, I knew it all along! What would they tell old man Morgan tomorrow? I could hear him cussing and yelling, That sonofabitch! I knew he was no good when I hired him.

Except for some clothing in my footlocker in the bunkhouse, everything I owned was out in my battered up ’61 Chevy pickup. Luckily I’d been paid for two weeks, just last night—Friday—and I still had more than a hundred bucks in my wallet. It seemed very appropriate, just walking away. Starting a new life. Starting clean.

The bathroom door opened.

I put my feet over the edge of the bed and sat up—and then just stared at him: naked, still glistening from the shower, with his hair combed, and all the effects of the crazy night flushed down the drain. There were dark bruises on the cheeks of his ass, but no other sign of all that had happened to him.

He smiled awkwardly and muttered I feel a lot better. Thanks for getting the room.

I nodded and watched him go to his suitcase. I didn’t realize what he was doing until he was pulling his shorts on.

Hey! I jumped up and started toward him.

What’s wrong?

Don’t! I mean... I stood there feeling stupid and helpless.

"Don’t what?"

Get dressed.

He stopped moving and considered what I had just said. Then he looked up at me. "You want more?"

No! I said quickly. I mean...we’re both...let’s stay here tonight. Let’s go to bed and go to sleep...together. Is that okay?

Sure. He dropped the shorts and kicked them onto the pile of his clothes in the chair. Then he lay down on the bed and spread his legs, leaning back on his hands, folded behind his head on the pillow, watching me. What was he thinking? That this was some kind of payment I was expecting because I had helped him? I couldn’t let him think that—and yet there wasn’t a thing I could think of to say.

He watched as I undressed, his face like it had been in the alley, blank and waiting. I couldn’t help remembering, way back in high school, the very first time I’d gone all the way with a girl; I remembered how scared I had been then, and thought how crazy it was that I should be even more scared right now. My heart was pounding so hard and so loud, I could hear nothing else. When I finally kicked off my shorts and stood there in front of him, naked, I knew that this time was so much more important than that. That was like kindergarten, this was like college. I’d been just a stupid kid then, doing what the other kids told me I ought to do. And it had been fun. But I wasn’t a kid any more, and I knew that what I was about to do would change my life. Maybe forever.

I turned off the light, stumbled over my clothes, getting across to the bed, where I sat tentatively, my fingers gripping the mattress. The blinking motel sign outside the window spilled light across the bed, softly illuminating his body with changing colors. I reached out and put my hand on his stomach. The muscles tensed under it. His skin was icy-cold. At first, he didn’t move, but then, his fingers tentatively touched my arm and followed it to my hand on his stomach, where they entwined with my own fingers. His hand squeezed mine, and lifted it up to his face. Gently holding my fingers, he traced them across his lips and the tip of his tongue. Then he reached up for my shoulders and pulled me down on top of him. His hands moved up my neck to my face, then guided my mouth to his. His hot breath swirled into my mouth, and his tongue tentatively touched my tongue, and I felt a drop of his saliva seeping across, mixing with mine!

I pressed my body against his. Everything matched. Our cocks nestled together like brothers as we moved our bodies against each other. Sweetly, easily. No need to rush this time.

He lifted my face slightly away from his and looked up at me, his eyes shining-wet. You kiss good! he whispered, then pulled me back again, his hungry mouth already starting to devour mine!

He turned us over on the bed until he was on top, then started at the top of my forehead and worked his way down my body, kissing and licking my eyes and my nostrils and the edges of my lips and my chin. He sucked each nipple until my entire chest was tingling, then licked down the middle of my belly, pausing to ream out my navel, and continued until his tongue was at the base of my cock. He licked it. It jerked! And a brilliant thrill shot through my body! He licked it again, swirled his tongue around it, and the thrill seemed to vibrate through me! Then he sat up and studied my cock for a long moment, smiling like a child enraptured. He leaned over again and took the head of it in his mouth, and the most incredible warmth seemed to spread out from my crotch through my body, tingling my scalp! Slowly, he inched his hot mouth down over my cock, inch by inch until he had the entire thing down inside his throat. By then, the world had gone away, and the two of us were alone in a universe of delirious sensations! With his mouth still down hard against my pubic hair, his fingers started teasing my balls, then my legs. Every hair on my body stood up in gooseflesh as his fingers danced over my skin!

He swallowed, and the impulse ran down my cock, tugging at my balls, and I almost came! I stopped him, pulled his head up, twisting around in the bed until we could kiss again. I could taste the bitter saltiness of my own cock in his mouth. I eased him down and stretched him out on the bed and started kissing and licking him, just as he’d done for me. He tasted like Lifebouy. He was absolutely delicious! I licked him like a candy bar, nibbled his nipples just as he’d done mine. They got hard in my mouth and I chewed them gently while his body writhed on the bed, while he groaned and clutched at my hands. I licked under his pecs, then down the hairy canyon of his stomach to his belly button, still wet from the shower, and then down to the base of his cock.

In spite of my excitement, I stopped and sat up, studying him. I had never done what I was about to do, and I wanted to savor the moment. I considered his cock. It was almost identical to mine, with the dark cherry-shaped head above the bumpy circumcision scar. Long, pulsing veins wrapped themselves along the shaft like streaks of lightening. From this point of view, the head of his cock looked like the Yin and the Yang. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I’d never really looked at a cock before, and it was gorgeous! Perfect. A work of art. And we were a matched set.

I eased over him and took the head of his cock between my lips, feeling the heat and fullness of the glans as I eased down slowly around it. I pointed the tip of my tongue into the thin mouth of his penis, and found it slick with a fluid that tasted almost sweet. Then, slowly, I did what he had done for me, amazed that I had a man’s cock in my mouth! Amazed and delighted that I could suck it in deeper and deeper without gagging or throwing up! It slipped like a boat into a berth down my throat, and I discovered I could breathe around it!