Fidel rides Alone

"At dawn General Fidel Castro, and his second in command Che Guevara storm Havana with their band of Freedom Fighters, driving President Batista from the island in a great hail of bullets." The boy mumbles, talking to himself as he rocks back and forth in his closet masturbating to his own personal fantasy once again. In this fantasy he is always a great General ruling Cuba with an iron fist while fighting against the Evil American Imperialists.

"Fidel! Time for dinner!" His mother calls. "Coming Mama!" he yells as thick strings of jism spurt from his balls.

After school, Fidel hangs out with his best friend and current love interest Ernesto "Che" Guevara. In real life as in his fantasies Che is always by his side as second in command. They head to the outskirts of town and spend time alone on the rocky shores of Playa Arroyo Bermejo where they swim naked and Che fucks him roughly in the sand.

"Pappi! Pappi!" he cries.

One day after school Fidel catches Che kissing his hated rival, Camilo Ortiz. He runs home crying and sulks for three days, refusing to go to school. In his fantasies he has Che captured and killed on a revolutionary mission in Bolivia. It is a more honorable death than he deserves, but regrettably Fidel still has feelings for the boy.

Furthermore, General Castro cracks down on all homosexuals and eventually has them exiled to America.

When I cum it makes it so.

When I cum it makes it so.

Fidel Castro Rides Alone!

Desert Markets

Long days drive across Arizona to California bound for LA. Hazy and hot summer afternoon, mirraiges shimmer in the yellow and blue distance. Sporadic roadside tourist attractions, trading posts, shops selling various kinds of desert-related junk, arts crafts, lonely run-down markets interspersed about every 40 miles or so.

Tim stops at this one flea market for a cold Coke and comes across an old Mexican man selling strange looking brightly-colored jelly tubes. He touches one and and feels an amazing rippling sensation like sonar or steel springs bouncing back and forth throughout.

"You put them on your cock!" the gravely-voiced man says; his haunted wide eyes full of sincerity; not the slightest bit of humor in him. "Most amazing thing you ever feel in your life!" Tim was not normally the kind of guy to buy sexual devices from flea markets but the old man's enthusiasm was convincing. They were $20 each. He had the spare cash and there was no one else around. Tim figured he would never see this man again so why not? He pulled out the twenty.

"You'll like it, I promise!" the man told him and placed one in a brown paper bag.

That night in his motel room with nothing to do and nothing on television Tim thought about the cock sleeve and decided to try it out. He pulled it out of its brown paper bag and was again amazed by that sensation of energy bouncing inside it. He went into the bathroom to get the little complimentary bottle of hair conditioner for lubrication, pulled off his clothes and climbed into bed.

Squirting a dab of the conditioner onto his erect and now eager cock he slowly slid the sleeve over it. The thing seemed to move on its own, wriggling strangely, and then began sliding up and down his cock on its own.

"What the fuck?! This thing is alive!" Tim screamed as a creature (not totally unlike the egg-laying succubus from the movie Alien), slid wrigglingly up and down his cock of its own volition making the strangest and most erotic noise he'd ever heard...a kind of distant nasal whimpering and begging that seemed to come from another dimension. The creature sounded both alive and mechanical at once like some chattering Japanese robot with vibrating whines and hums that sent shivers through his entire body. It begged for more. Tim tried as hard as he could to pull the thing off but it wouldn't budge and the harder he tried the more the pleasure it gave him making it impossible to remove. He gasped, rolled over on his stomach and to begin humping the creature desperately. It responded with a power approaching an industrial washing machine.

"OH GOD!" Tim screamed, not caring who heard him.
When he came it was as if all the stress he had ever had in his life passed through his balls and into this hungry sleeve which swallowed and sucked down every drop, returning a pure blissful feeling of nirvana energy back to him through his testicles. He wound up collapsed in a heap, ass in the air, his head burried in his pillow, shivering slightly completely purged of any energy.
A few minutes later the sleeve started up again, slowly just enough to get him aroused. It coaxing him back to life until he was every bit as horny as before. This went on all night until he had achieved nine more orgasms, each one more pleasurable and draining than the last. By morning Tim felt nothing but an intense love for the thing. When he could cum no more it remained on his dick, purring gently, sending him warm nurturing energy.

Tim had the sleeve for a month. It would leave him alone just long enough to eat food each day; even removing his waste (which was another story in and of itself). Nothing else mattered to him and he was happy.

Then one morning he woke up with a start to the realization that he was alone. He looked down at his cock and saw that the sleeve was gone. Terrified, he searched the motel room all day but it had completely vanished.

Somehow Tim knew deep in his heart that the creature had left him for his own good to avoid killing him with pleasure and amazingly he felt no desire to go buy another one. In time he was able to return and pick up the pieces of his life in LA.

Night Creatures Who Eat Jam

Cold harbor, dim city lights, and up from the depths of the Hudson come floppy finned-feet, like spoons slopping in black-eyed peas, PLOP (wait for it) PLOP (wait for it) PLOP.

Look, over there! A happy hooker getting fucked by a john! "Fuck me quick." she says. "My show’s about on." He tries to kiss her, but she squeezes his balls in a way that indicates, "NO, I save that for my boyfriend."

The creature sneaks up behind them where they copulate against an old brick building; pants pulled down to their knees. The john’s pale ass, contracting in rhythmic spasms of lust the only thing clearly visible in the dark. There is a loud, hideous bestial roar, and the two look up to the shocking sight of a disgusting Hudson River GILLYWOG!

The huge beast plucks the john off the ground, turns him around and sucks him off to orgasm; its slippery lips pure bliss, razor-sharp teeth covered in blood. Screams rip the night. The horrifying beast chews them both to bone, then slips floppy-footed back into the river.

Saffron

Crazed wild dogs with curled tails fuck in the yellow field, while some old woman hangs clothes in the breeze and the sea laps ashore below.

Paulo, hidden in a garden shed, masturbates as he watches all this through a shutterless window. When he finishes, he flings cum off his fingertips onto the floor, then goes to pull a cigarette out of a shirt pocket. He smokes, sitting nude, his darkly tanned body in shadow. He leans against the far wall with his ass in the dirt.

Connected to the earth he nurses his cock, its tip oozing microcosms. He looks out the window at the bright blue sky and blows ever exploding universes of smoke toward it.

Quimby the Sailor

The sailor Quimby had his own version of beatittude which he shared with the natives from time to time. It involived "fire water", taking baths in the barrels of 60 proof Bourbon that were salvaged from his shipwreck. Chief Monawakka was fond of Quimby and often joined him in these ritual baths which Quimby nicknamed "The Hot-Tub Club". The village was instructed to make their own spirit from the sap of the local Gahundi tree. Quimby named this sap-whiskey Sweet Otoan after the Otoan River which flowed through the little village. Sweet Otoan was hailed as the best spirit ever distilled, bottles selling for $100,000 at auction, making the villagers rich beyond their wildest dreams (their wildest dreams heretofore being the posession of 4 goats).

After 3 years of this Chief Monawakka came to love Quimby as a son and invited him to pick a wife from the tribe. Quimby was greatly honored and had been horny for some time. He chose Quatamaya, a slender and stoic 18 year old girl with sly eyes; the sight of whom had often excited him in the past. Her parents were greatly honored and killed their goat in celebration.

The wedding feast was vast and impressive as any in the west. The nuptuals themselves consisted of the priest screaming a tirade of blessings and finally spitting Sweet Otoan on them (an update of the traditional chewed tarrow root beer which had blessed weddings for centuries). The entire village chanted as Quimby was expected to mount Quatamaya and fuck her vigorously in the center square which he managed to do with some gusto dispite being under such pressure to perform. Several of the village elders took turns pushing on his ass help achieve deeper penetration and truth be told because they were curious as to the touch and feel, having never seen a white ass so close up.

The next spring Quatamaya bore him twin sons, Ebando and Hoobai; the first set of twins in the village in a hundred years. This was considered a great omen. The boys were blond-haired and blue eyed like their father and so esteemed by the village they could be expected to become chiefs of the tribe one day.

Chevy

Johnathan's prize posession was a 57 powder-blue Chevy convertable with tan-leather upholstery. It was a genuine pussy-magnet and this wholesome young lad was getting his fill but good. Tool down to the local Sonic and take your pick. Skinny baby-face white boy gets all the stuff he wants.

His mother, Illien was a terrible alcoholic. When he was a child they had to relocate after the entire neighborhood saw her passed out with her cunt in the air through the living room window. There were so many people you could have sold tickets. Foul-mouthed old biddy she was too, yelling at kids for picking her dandelions.

Johnathan had earned the car with is own money working hard at the local lumber yard as a stock boy for the past four years. He was a bit short in the end but put out for his boss, Mr. Blaine for the remaining $500. Still couldn't stand the old man's leer as he said, "Johnathan's my BEST stock boy" . Still, the Chevy got him pussy and that counts for a lot in rural Oklahoma.

Puerta Puerta

Some Mexican boys swim nude at the port. Big Tom licks his lips. "I smell chicken" he says with a smile. Sweat glistens on his leathery wrinkled forehead. Some of 'em like a big natural man like Tom, heathenous old pervert that he is. Smell of cattle-prod and Aqua-Velva. There's something about an Aqaua Velva man. There sure is...he STINKS.

Pack your suitcas for Puerta Vallarta, my dear. It's going to be a long night.We travel down along the gypsum road past cactus and cattle and red rock and sleeping cowboy. Hello?! Anybody here? Wind whistles through ghosttowns and dusty tumbleweeds blow by. Ahhhh...smell those WEEDS! Annoying city boy squeels, belly out and hands in pockets. He looks just like Harry Potter, glasses and all. We'll feed him to the Indians later, I tell my crew. It's always good to keep them appeased with a sacrifice now and then. They agreed in a mumbling way but I could tell they all wanted to have sex with him first. I smoked my cigar and squinted in the midday sun.

The Stink of the Pharos

I sing unto the ether and find myself deep in heavenly thoughts. Would you like to lick my pussy? she asked. Sure, I said, but first let me get a wash rag and wet it because you never know what you're going to get. The staink of the pharos could be down there justa steamin along and here I come and pass out from the fumes.

Well, no more than got down there when sure enough out come a cloud of green toxicity so virulent I to this day have not recovered 5 hours of time. Of course you don't tell the lady that. Oh, it was divine. Your sacred hooch was like roses in July. No...it was likely low blood-sugar darlin'...I been strugglin diabetes these last years. Stress, you know. Republicans in power and all that. What you gonna do about it? No, your cunt? Hell no. It was likely anything but.