The summer vacation after I was graduated from junior high was largely spent hustling, spending money on stupid things, and playing jobs.
The weather in San Francisco is usually miserable and foggy during the summer. When we would have a rare nice day I would take a girl or go with friends up to Marin Town and Country Club across the Golden Gate, or simply "Fairfax," as we called it. There, we could lie in the sun all day, swim a bit, play touch football, and fill up on delicious grilled hot dogs. In the evening there was dancing.
I was making it now and then with some chick, but I still didn't know shit about women. Despite all the blow jobs and an occasional normal piece of ass, I still fantasized about some mythical perfect fuck while I beat my meat.
Early one evening I was standing on the corner of Powell and Ellis, leaning against a hot-dog stand with my cock bulging, when a young couple walked by. The guy was in his early twenties, had a blond crew-cut, was about thirty pounds overweight, and was queer.
It's funny that after hustling awhile you can tell the queers from the straights just by the face and the eyes. There's something about the face that is a dead giveaway to the practiced eye, even if the guy is married or very virile-looking.
This guy was queer, and the chick he was with- was a real good-looking blonde with blue, twinkly eyes, and was very well dressed. They stopped a few feet down the street from me and turned around.
It never embarrassed me when a man looked frankly at my crotch, but both of them were staring. She smiled and I began to get a real hard-on and also to blush a bit, I could feel the heat in my face and ears.
They whispered together for a minute and then came over to me.
He was about my height, but much heavier; with her heels on, she was taller than both of us.
"Hi," he said, smiling affably.
"Hi," I answered, not quite sure what was happening.
"You been busy today?" He wanted me to know that he knew what I was there for.
"Just started," I lied.
Actually I had already done a trick, but all Johns like to think that they're first. I guess they're afraid of dirty cocks or germs from some other guy's mouth. It didn't matter, because I always washed thoroughly in one of the many downtown restrooms after being with a John, for my protection, not theirs.
"Uh," he hesitated, "I'm Jim and this is my wife, Mary."
"Hi, again," I said to them both.
"Hi," she said, her eyes still sparkling with hidden humor and her mouth drawn up in a half smile.
"Uh," he said again, "you see… that is, Mary here and me were talking, and we like the way you look… and we were wondering if you do couples. I mean, have you ever done it with couples before?"
"Once in a while," I lied.
"We're at the Sir Francis Drake," Mary said softly. "Would you like to take a walk over with us?"
I was going to ask about money, but was so intrigued by a woman being involved that I figured I'd just cool it and see what happened. "Sure," I said.
Our conversation was perfunctory, but they always were. There didn't seem to be much to say, because you knew that everybody just wanted to get on with it. We all were afraid that too much talk might expose us, make us vulnerable to some great, unknown catastrophe.
We walked a couple of blocks to the hotel, saying little. The room was large and one whole side was dominated by a table and clothes rack where various items of ladies' apparel hung. Catalogs and order books were scattered all over the table. Jim said he represented a clothing manufacturer, taking care not to mention which one, and that they were in town for a week to sell to local stores.
Mary began to make drinks. "Is a martini all right?" she asked, looking a little more nervous now than when she was out on the street.
"Fine," I answered, watching her body closely. She was wearing a red sweater and skirt that showed her off to great advantage.
Jim had taken off his jacket and tie, and I noticed with some distaste how his paunch hung over his belt.
The only seats in the room were folding chairs around the display table, so we sat on the bed, had our drinks, and talked haltingly of nothing, just making conversation and killing time.
I was wondering what the deal was. Was he going to suck me? Was I going to get to fuck her? Both? Neither?
Mary, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, pushed herself up and reclined against the backboard. She raised one knee, and from where I was sitting at the foot of the bed I could look right up between her legs. Although I couldn't see much, it made me hard as hell.
Jim got up and put his drink purposefully on the dresser, returning to sit close to me. He put his hand gingerly on my leg. "Does Mary get you hot?"
I smiled at him, then looked down at the bulge straining to break out of my pants.
"Why don't you get comfortable, honey?" he said to her, still stroking my leg in small circles, almost like a massage.
Mary grabbed the bottom of her sweater and pulled it off in one smooth upward motion. She pulled her skirt up around her waist and unhooked her stockings from her garter belt, exposing lean, very white legs. Raising on her heels and lifting her ass off the mattress, she peeled off her skirt and panties.
She was a bleached blonde, with pubic hair that was dark brown and curly-soft. She unhooked her bra and slipped it off over white, freckled shoulders. She had seemed to stick straight under the sweater, but with the bra off her breasts pointed down, and large, pinkish nipples covered almost half of them. Still, she was an attractive sight, and I was wishing that Jim would disappear so that I could fuck her, but something about her look told me that the feeling wasn't mutual.
"Do you like it?" Jim asked, his hand moving to my crotch and massaging my cock through my pants.
"Yeah, she's beautiful," I whispered hotly. He began unzipping me. "Well, look all you want to, but don't touch. If Mary wants to touch you, she can, but you do only what we tell you to, or we'll have to insist that you leave. Understand?"
"I understand," I said. I couldn't have asked for a plainer set of ground rules. He pulled off all my clothes and started stroking me. I was so hot that I thought I would shoot right then and there.
Meanwhile he had turned around on the bed so that his feet were near Mary's head, and she undid his pants and took them down.
He had a flat, floppy, soft little peter, which Mary put into her mouth and began to suck; but, much to my surprise, it stayed soft. When she slipped a hand between her legs and started finger fucking herself I had to look the other way, for fear I would come all over Jim's hand. He got off the bed to strip and Mary moved down to suck me while he was busy peering off clothes.
I had never before been sucked by a woman who knew what she was doing, and it made a world of difference. She held my cock straight up and, laying her head on my belly, put her mouth around my shaft from the side, nibbling gently. She ran her tongue up and down the length of it and around the head, all the while fingerfucking herself and moaning. She really seemed to be enjoying it and so was I. I started caressing her back with my hands, but stopped when she immediately murmured, "Uh-uh, no hands," between licks.
By this time Jim was ready. He got onto the bed on the other side of me, put his arms around my waist, cradling my ass in his hands, and with a sigh took.my cock out of Mary's mouth and put it into his own.
Now I had both of them working on me, Jim sucking me while Mary, her head pressed down on my pubic hair, licked and nibbled around the base. I was running songs through my head to keep from losing my load.
Jim's cock finally started to grow into a little hard-on as he sucked me, and he moved it closer to my face, evidently hoping that I would suck him. I turned my head away, almost into Mary's belly, as she was lying on the other side of me. I tried kissing her belly, thinking she might not mind if she knew that Jim couldn't see, but she jerked her torso back a bit and away from me. She had the middle finger of one hand in her cunt, and seemed to be using pressure on her clitoris as she humped against her hand.
"Okay, honey. I'm ready, do it to me now," she moaned, and I wasn't sure if she was talking to Jim or to me, but he stopped sucking me and so did she.
"Move over to the side of the bed," he said curtly, and I did.
Mary moved around and lay in the middle of the bed, with Jim on top of her, his fat gut crushing into her smooth, fiat stomach. She brought up her legs and he started pumping against her.
"Kneel over her head," he said, panting with exertion.
I straddled Mary's head, my cock pointing straight out over her nose, and Jim, lifting himself up a little, took me into his mouth again. All I could really see was his large back, fat pads jiggling as he bounced, and her knees up on either side of him.
"You're not wet enough," he groaned. "I can't get it in."
One of her hands disappeared from his back as she reached down and tried to help him.
"It's not hard enough," she said dryly.
"Wait till I suck him a bit more," he answered between gulps of my meat.
He worked on me a few minutes more, and I could sense all kinds of activity going on around Mary's cunt. Jim was pouring sweat from the exertion.
Suddenly he" stopped. "Don't grab it so tight!" he yelled.
He remained immobile, my rod still in his mouth. Then, with a groan of misery and despair, he began pumping furiously against her and sucking me hard. When I shot off into him he groaned again, pushing my pulsing sperm deep into his throat, swallowing hastily.
In a minute he rolled off of her, panting and spent, his white, sticky jizzum covering her pubic hair. He had never made it into her cunt.
I was still kneeling over Mary. A few drops fell onto her face, but she didn't move. The sparkling, humorous eyes were closed, and she was crying softly.
Jim lay beside her, one arm thrown over his face. "I'm sorry, honey," he kept saying over and over. "I'm sorry."
I started to get dressed.
Mary got off the bed and went to her purse. Her body was still glistening wet from Jim's sweat. She gave me a ten-dollar bill and tried a brave smile. "It's not your fault. You did what you were supposed to."
"I'm sorry, too," I said, pushing the ten into my pocket.
"We've got a few problems, as you can see, but we'll work them out." She took my face in her hands and kissed me gently on the lips. "Maybe someday we won't need kids like you. Maybe someday I'll be the only one who attracts him."
"I hope so," I said, and left.
Outside in the hall I had a feeling of exhausted depression. Only years later could I understand the depth of Mary's love for Jim. He had either married her as a homosexual, or was latent and had turned homosexual after their marriage. The only way he could even begin to function as a husband was to have a young boy whose cock he could suck so that he could get his own hard enough to penetrate his wife. And even then he failed, because the minute it became hard he ejaculated.
I can imagine what it must have done to both of them over a period of time, and I wondered about all the married Johns that paid to have me when they had wives waiting at home. I wondered how many were like Jim.
One thing I did learn in that room, there's an old saying that only a homosexual knows how to suck a cock so that a man can enjoy it. The old saying is bullshit.
Homosexuals are compulsive suckers; they seem to have a driving urge to get your cock halfway down their throats and to make you come. I don't think it's the sucking they enjoy so much as the feeling of a load of hot sperm being ejected down their throats. They crave it.
On the other hand, a woman with a good oral urges who enjoys sucking a cock will make love to it, she will lick it, nibble and tease, and cuddle it to pieces. She will relish the feel and texture of the skin against her lips, her tongue, the inside of her mouth, the velvet feel of the head sliding over her sensitive oral tissues. The gratification that a man feels from a loving woman sucking him is far greater than he will ever receive from a homosexual, who is by nature self-gratification oriented.
Many women don't or won't swallow sperm. I have met only a few who really enjoyed the taste and wanted to swallow it. I have never met a woman who wanted me to shove it halfway down into her stomach when I came, and the women who did like it in the mouth preferred me to shoot shallow into them, so that they could feel it better.
Some women will take it in their mouths and then spit it out; some will pull it out of their mouths just before I come, and, leaving their tongues extended, will catch it as it comes out. Some have liked me to pull it out and do it all over their faces. I knew one girl who would have an orgasm when I did this. Evidently the excitement of seeing the sperm shoot out, and the sensation of it, wet and warm on the delicate skin of her face, set her off.
But all of that was later.
I became a real whore, shoving my cock into mouth after mouth; dispassionately blowing my goodies down throat after throat with all the detachment of a nurse shoving a thermometer up somebody's ass. There were no faces on the Johns, no personalities, just a conglomerate of mouths groping for my hot sperm. I would service five Johns and then go home, or flop in some friend's pad and jack off, because my masturbation dreams gave me more satisfaction and at least a pretense of emotional involvement. Like Portnoy's imaginary Great Mythical Fuck, "Give it to me, big boy," it was more personal and immediate than the Johns, who themselves seemed to exist in a dream.
Eventually the atmosphere of the Tenderloin got through to me. I found myself as hard, bitter, and cynical as the drabbest streetwalker. Shit- and piss-adored glory holes were my second home, girlie movies with the dried cum from a thousand vicarious fuckings running down the walls beneath the small viewing screens, enough crusting sperm to repopulate the world stuck onto the cheap, gray deck paint in an atmosphere reeking of stale orgasms.
And walls everywhere written upon with the empty longings of sick minds:
"Need your hot load in my mouth"
"Love to fuck, suck sailors, cowboys"
"Give me your eight inches"
"Got twelve inches, looking for a hot suck"
"Love to fuck, suck your balls and asshole"
"Let me clean out your asshole with my tongue"
"I fucked my sister this morning"
"For good suck, Ron (phone number)"
"Come to Aetna Hotel Room 661 for good suck, fuck me in the ass"
"Hot for your throbbing, cum-filled dick (phone number)"
"Flush hard, it's a long way to the kitchen"
"Let me drink your hot piss, eat your shit, 5 P.M. every day"
And on and on, scribbled on the walls over urinals, in the booths, washed away and rewritten by a thousand tortured souls who would not have their fantasies denied by the scouring rag of a careless janitor.
Over a period of time, Bobby's appearance had become shoddy and unkempt.
He disappeared from the street and I didn't see him for a while, until one night when I was taking a trick to a glory hole in a parking garage. I just opened the door and there he was, on his knees in front of some old wino, sucking cock. His back was to me, but the matted blond hair and fancy cowboy shirt were unmistakable.
I closed the door quickly and took my trick elsewhere.
The poor bastard had gone full circle; he'd turned from hustler to queer, and it had destroyed him. I never saw or heard of Bobby again.
But as I left that closet-queen glory hole I had a painful feeling of foreboding, a feeling that if I didn't do something with myself I might end up as a worthless piece of human garbage, like Bobby.