Manhattan Bigmouth

The young man had truly been blessed with everything a gay male could desire: unimaginable, good looks, great hair, adorable eyes and a fantastic body. Any guy, able to ignore him, would've been one gasp removed from cadaver status. I noticed him when he was still a block away. A big, handsome, young guy, he strutted , certain he was, indeed, the cock of the walk; and his cockiness was not without justification.

Most guys, on passing him, looked back, repeatedly, hoping to catch him looking. The closer he came, the more excited I became. It's so strange, I thought, that whenever we see a really attractive guy, the first thing we want to do is to get our knees dirty. I was struck dumbfounded when it seemed he was going to enter the apartment building, where I was sitting on the step.

"Yo, dog, you, kinda, like, live, here?" He asked, his wide smile displaying breathtakingly-beautiful, teeth.

"Uhh, Yes," I answered nervously, "Yeah, I live here...what up?"

"I Just, got in town, you know, like, about four hours ago."

"Okay." I said..."So, Uh, yeah, welcome to Montreal," I said, returning his smile.

"It's all kool, man, like, it's all good for ya, huh?" He asked, while giving the building a superficial appraisal. "Yep, like, it's super kool, man...oh, yeahhh, I like it mucho...Ya live alone here?" He asked, dropping his back-pack and sitting next to me. Without awaiting a reply, his smile widened as he added, "Uh, like, ya, kinda, married, er what, huh, dog?"

"Yeah, I live here, alone and I'm not married" I told him; I was extremely curious to know where we were going with this.

"Hey, hey, hey, kool, amigo," he sang, sounding like he was breaking into a Rap song. "Yeah, like real-mucho awesome!"

Had he not been so goddam gorgeous, I definitely would not have answered his prying questions.

I guessed we were close to the same age- early twenties. Maybe he was a little younger than me; Tousled, dark hair, reminding me of a sheep Dog, poked out from a New York Yankee's ball cap, worn backwards. "Hey, man, like, ya mind telling me why, like, you're layin' this third degree on me?" I laughed so he wouldn't think I was totally pissed-off with him, though, I undoubtedly would've been had it been almost anyone else. He continually used the words, like, kinda and sorta, liberally and haphazardly sprinkling them in most unlikely places. I attempted to mimic him, hoping it would ingratiate me with him, as well as make him feel I was on the leading edge.

"Mus' cost ya a bundle...I mean like, here, in Buckingham Palace?

"I manage," I said, modestly.

"Yeah, like, I been, kinda, lookin' fer a place, like, a place with mucho class, like this one. Ohh, man," he groaned, exaggeratedly, "My freakin' legs are fallin' off from all the goddam walking...So, like, how much ya pay, anyways?" He asked, then, acting like a Rockefeller, added, "Not that it matters...you're like, sorta gay, huh,-"

"Aw, c'mon, man, you're getting a bit personal, aren't ya?" I interrupted.

"Well, like...I sorta think a guy should sorta know if his roommate's gay, er not...don't you?"

"Sure, Like, and how about yourself, you're kinda gay, huh?" I asked, defensively.

"Okay, okay, no need to bother about details right now," he said, authoritatively, adding some sort of hand movement that looked like he was erasing from a chalkboard.

"I, kinda, sorta think I should maybe reboot. It's gotta be a virus or spyware or something." He really laughed at that.

"Wow, man, like, right on, you've got a computer, huh? Like, high speed, huh, I hope; got no patience for that freakin' dial up crap? Speakin' of crap, roomie, can I use your can..like, you know, I really need to go?" He asked, his back-pack already in his hand.

It sure as hell wasn't easy to conceal my excitement when he emphasized his urgency by holding onto his dick. I was reading something important into his every move.

How is a sane person supposed to handle an insane situation, such as this, I wondered. I didn't want to refuse him, yet, I felt extremely uncomfortable, thinking I could be allowing a certifiable psychopath into my apartment.

"You'll have to excuse the mess," I said, apologetically. "My cleaning...ahh, person isn't due till tomorrow." Nervous, as I surely was, I still scrutinized his jiggling butt, as he quickly climbed the stairs ahead of me. My apartment door had not fully closed behind us before he'd thrown his back-pack onto a chair and was off to examine the place; his urgent need was, obviously, no longer a priority.

"Man, orb that fuckin' king-size bed," he shouted, admiringly. "That baby looks, sorta, like it's the real thing." Then, stretching out on his stomach, his butt bounced, provocatively, as he humped the mattress. "Ohhh, yeah, like, real kool, man, sorta, like, wake me in a couple of hours, okay?" He asked, pretending to snore.

The living room was the last place to be checked out. Right away, he inspected the sofa. His few, perfunctory bounces resulted in an expression clearly indicating it had, definitely, flunked his expert fornication test. "Hey, dog, am I gonna have to sleep on this, while you're all alone on a bed the size of Manhattan Island?"

"Have you always been this shy and withdrawn?" I asked, facetiously. "Besides, like, dog, you haven't been invited to sleep anywhere, yet."

"Yeah, okay, okay, I know; you think I'm a little pushy, don't ya? Well, let me tell you, man, like, in New York they'd trample all over ya if ya weren't a loudmouth; me, I'm, sorta, considered, like, middle-of-the-road, 'specially by the Manhattanuts...Like, you never been in Manhattan?" He asked, incredulous that there could be anyone who'd never had that experience.

"Yeah, well, like, you're in Montreal, now...and I don't consider you normal in any way," I said, laughing at his exaggerated expression of shock.

"Okay, enough about that," he said, authoritatively, again, "Let's move on...Our legal people can get together to iron out details, if you're okay with that."

"Actually, I think, like, maybe we're not, at all, on the same page. There are a few things I'd like to know about you; for example, I'd like to know your name and I'd just love to know how come your sudden need to use the bathroom, the only reason you're here, incidentally, was satisfied by simply peering into the room?"

"Yeah...yeah, that was a, kinda, weird one, huh? I suppose it was 'cause of excitement over the magnificence of your mini Taj Mahal. It just. kinda, made me forget I needed to go. That often happens, you know." He told me, reassuringly.

"I'm Chris...Christopher Thornton, twenty-three and six-foot-one. I was born in Montreal and moved in here when I was eighteen; my parents live close-by. This is the kinda, like, the stuff I'd like to know about you, capice?"

"Si, I understand. I'd, sorta, like to introduce Keith Obrien," he laughed, offering his hand. "I'm gonna, sorta, be nineteen, like, in another month...Last time, I got measured I was five-eleven and a bit, like, in bare feet. I was born in Manhattan and I lived there, like, till four days ago, like, till My parents, sorta, turfed me out with the garbage; that, the kinda stuff you wanted to know about?" he asked, laughing.

"Is that true?" I asked, incredulously..."Your parents threw their own son out on the street?"

"Yep, but they, sorta, had no choice..like, If I'd been willing to apologize and beg the Elders for forgiveness it would've, kinda, all blown over, but no goddam way was I gonna let them run my freakin life; I don't mean my parents, I mean the church Elders."

"What the hell are you talking about. This sounds so weird, man, I've got no idea what what you mean?"

"It's all about religion, like, I refused to apologize for my "questionable" lifestyle, so they Disfellowshipped me. That meant no church members, including my own family, were allowed to talk to me...My parents had no choice; I sorta refused to let those religious despots tell me how I should live."

"Well, what were you supposed to apologize for?"

"You name it. They just didn't approve of my lifestyle. You know, ya probably won't believe it but the church says you can't even get a tattoo or smoke...Fuck, man, like yer not even allowed to celebrate Christmas or your own freakin' birthday...It's goddam ridiculous-"

"But," I interrupted, "What was it , like, what the hell did you do, specifically?"

"I was, like, workin' for this church member, who was a close friend of my father, driving a delivery truck. I , kinda, had a magazine I used to look at durin' my lunch break. I used to, like, sorta, hide it under the seat, ya know, like, so the guy that worked the next shift wouldn't see it...One time, he had to break hard an' the freakin' book went flyin'. Of course, he was a church member also and had to report me to the Board of Elders. So, there you have it," he said, splitting his face with a wide grin.

I hoped he wouldn't notice me, continually, checking out his basket, although, I thought, maybe it would speed things up. "Why did you decide to come to Montreal?"

"I didn't. It was an unconscious decision," he said, smiling as though to himself. "I hitched for four, freakin' days, like, intending to get dropped off around Plattsburgh...I've, sorta, got a friend there, but I have this problem, ya see. I get hypnotized by the sound of the tires an' I, kinda, fall asleep. Well, I woke up an' I'm in a big metropolis. I ask the guy, 'Hey, man, where the fuck are we?' I nearly crapped when he told me we were in Montreal...Ya know what, Chris?"

"What?" I asked, impatiently. I hated when somebody asks, 'you know what'?.

"I stink like a sewer," he said, sniffing himself before getting up from the sofa, "I gotta shower, I can't stand myself."

My job, writing for The Gazette, allowed me to do most of my work at home, but it felt very different now, with someone singing, off key, in the shower. Staring at the lank page on the screen I saw water cascading down keith's body. The sound of flowing water stopped, I could see him toweling and wished I was in there with him. Maybe he's thinking about me, I hoped.

I turned from the computer when I sensed he was behind me. A shiver ran through my body and I thought I was going to cum in my pants. Completely naked, He wasn't more than an arm's length from me, drying his hair. On the occasions when the towel covered his face I was able to ogle his crotch and drool, longingly, over his long, uncircumcised cock. His smooth, nibble-length foreskin clearly showed an outline of his perfect, throat-sized, knob.

Was he deliberately teasing me, I wondered, when he turned the TV on and, still naked, sat on the sofa with his legs provocatively placed on the coffee table. Whenever I believed he was watching the picture, I'd shoot a glance at him and long for the cock that was pointing directly at me. I could understand, now, why web-cams were so popular.

Keith's fantastically tanned body screamed for a tongue-licking. I assumed he worked out religiously; his impressive abs, pecs and triceps were ample proof.

"Watcha doin', Chris, like, what're ya writing?" He asked, while, unconsciously, perhaps, gently twisting and tugging the excess foreskin between his thumb and index finger. I gulped loudly enough that I felt embarrassed; he must've heard.

" I'm working on a prostitution article for the newspaper," I managed to blurt out before my voice could crack. Unable to endure any more of his torture-pleasure combo, I got a sheet, pillows and blankets for him. As I placed them beside him, I detected a cock-tingling scent of sex. "See ya in the morning, keith, sleep tight." I muttered, almost falling over the coffee table in my haste to get away from him.

I knew I wouldn't sleep. My mind was frozen on the adorable, naked doll on the sofa. It was unbearable, knowing he was so near and, yet, so unattainable. I heard the fridge door bang shut, the toaster pop and dishes rattling, but I must've dozed off, 'cause I didn't remember anything more until I heard a faint call

"Chris," he called, almost inaudibly. followed by a moment of silence, then, "Chris, you awake?" I waited. "Chris," he whispered, once more, before very carefully slipping under the cover. I'll never understand why my shivering body didn't shake the entire bed

My breathing was already loud and uneven, and it got even worse when I felt his body heat. Why had he called me, so softly, I asked myself...was it because he didn't want to disturb my sleep. Or, did he not want me to wake up, hoping he could sleep through the night without my knowing he'd slept with me. Considering he was the most forward guy I'd ever come across, surely, he wouldn't have been shy to make a move on me, if he had wanted to.

This Is dumb, I told myself. I should move on him, right now. Why I should continue with the stress and anxiety. So what, if he freaks; I'm bigger than him; he can't beat me up. He could only hurt me verbally, dress and leave. I wouldn't want him around here, anyway, after that...and most likely, I'd never see him again. So, why not roll the dice?

Slowly, my hand slid closer and closer to the prize. Finally, It rested, lightly, on his dick. His only reaction was a short gasp; he obviously, wanted me to think he was still sleeping. holding his foreskin between my thumb and finger, I did what I'd watched him doing on the sofa.

"I'm madly in love with your cock, Keith," I softly whispered in his ear.

"What the fuck! he exclaimed, suddenly, springing to an upright position. Embarrassed, beyond words, my face began to burn. Then, laughing, hilariously, he tossed his leg over me to position himself directly over my face. "Thanks, Chris...you're sweet," he said, still laughing, heartily.

The pearly gates finally swung open when he maneuvered a large testicle into my mouth. His exciting scent caused my pre-cum to flow. Excitedly, I licked him everywhere on his balls, repeatedly sucking them, one after the other, before licking from his nuts to the start of his butt crack. "It was obvious he wanted me to continue up the valley, but that was for my finale.

I pushed the foreskin back, with my lips, to lick the large, pre-cum- slicked knob. He squirmed with delight when I nibbled the sensitive area under his pee hole. "Take it in yer mouth," he ordered, lifting my head and pulling my face tightly against his crotch. "Ohh, my god, Chris," he murmured, "It's, like, so fuckin' incredibly fantastic when it's in your throat." He'd lunged so quickly and unexpectedly, I had almost thrown up, but still, it was a little bit of Heaven.

While he was humping my face, I lubricated my longest finger with my pre-cum and stuck up his butt. He moaned, ecstatically, when I finally touched his prostate gland. "Lie on your back, keith." I lifted him till he was supported on his shoulders. I vigorously, licked up and down his ass crack. Whenever my tongue neared his hole he pressed hard, wanting it all in his ass.

Having teased him long enough, I ferreted my tongue as far as possible into his twitching butt until he screamed for an orgasm. I deep-throated the slippery knob, working it over with my muscle; that along with a finger in his butt did the job, to perfection. "Aww...holy fuck, Keith, suck it hard, baby,...I'm cumming."

I thought his cum would never stop pumping. I kept his cum in my in my mouth to savour it, for a while, before swallowing. "Like, oh, man... fuck, that was the first time I ever had my ass eatin' out; Yeah, baby, I sure wanna do that, again."

"Were you hoping to get through the night without my knowing you were in the bed, Keith?"

"Believe me, Chris, like, incredible as it may seem, we, sorta, came very close to touching one another, simultaneously," he replied, still breathless.

"Keith, believe me, knowing that makes all the difference in the world to me."

"Oh, wow! Keith exclaimed, "My back teeth are floating; If I don't take a piss, right now, I'm gonna burst," he said, rushing for the bathroom.

"Wait for me, Keith!" I shouted, chasing after him, "it's a perfect time for me to realize one of my fantasies!"

"What d'ya wanna do?

"Never mind, just, just don't start without me!" Chris shouted.