Dick Dock

There are two paths into the darkness beneath the dock. One is sneaky, a shortcut by the wooden stairs that leads down from the hotel patio and pool above. The other is longer—a trip around the dock’s perimeter to an opening in its middle, where anyone and everyone standing in the shadows can see who’s approaching. I take the latter route, aware that I’m fully illuminated by the patio lights a dozen feet above my head. My flip-flops kick up sprays of sand as I approach.

I want to be noticed.

Behind me, the night sky is speckled with stars. Salt water waves softly rise and fall, phosphorescent and ghostly. Beneath the dock is pitch-dark, but I can hear the sounds of whispers, the wet squelch of mouths on dick. The sighs and sounds of sex. I can feel dozens of eyes upon me. I’m not imagining things, as I shuffle through the sand and duck my head to join them.

My eyes adjust within moments. Deep in the shadows, in the furthest recesses, I can see them. Men, two dozen, three dozen. A couple are making those soft, moist sounds as they suck each other. Most of them are leaning against the wooden supports, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone to make it happen.

I intend to be that someone.

I’m not so cocky that I think every man wants me. (I just act that way, sometimes.) What I do know is that I’m a sexual catalyst. I’m used to walking into a spot in which men gather for sex—bookstores, baths, cruising parks—where little or nothing is happening. Then I make it happen. Not much is happening here. The men have gathered. They’re standing in a long line, shifting from foot to foot, restless, against the iron girders supporting the massive dock at its rear. But they’re not doing anything.

I walk to the back. Stroll along the line. I can see the faces, pale and wraith-like, as I stroll to choose a spot. There’s all shapes here, all sizes of men. All ages. I’m pretty sure I could have my pick. To keep from banging it on the beams above, I have to keep my head bowed slightly. But in that stooped position I proceed down the line, pretending I don’t notice the heads turning to follow my progress, the hands swinging out to encourage me to linger.

Then I spot one. He’s wearing a white tank top and a pair of white shorts. In the lightless enclosure, he’s practically glowing in the dark. The kid’s a puppy, a short little fucker—five-four and muscular, maybe twenty-one, twenty-two, tops. He actually steps forward when I approach, as if to block me from going any further.

Like I don’t already know I’ve found what I want.

His mouth tastes like liquor. He’s obviously a little drunk; I can tell he’s unsteady when he raises himself on tiptoe to kiss me hungrily. My hands run over the trace of fuzz outlining his jaw, stroke his hard biceps, then pull him in. He’s shoving his hand down the front of my jeans and mauling my dick, treating it like a squeeze toy. I grab his wrist, choke it, pull him off me. My asserting control instantly makes him cool a little down.

It’s time for me to unbutton. My jeans drop to my knees; my shorts follow. His fingers fumble with the buttons on my shirt. I loosen the top two for him. Anonymous hands from behind me reach around to undo the others. I’m standing there in the cool night air, most of my skin exposed, with a hot-looking horny little pup pulling my mouth down to his. And I’m thinking to myself, fuck, at this moment my life is so good.

The pup goes down on my dick. His mouth is deep, hot, and sloppy. Trails of his spit slide down my nuts. The hands behind me squeeze on my nipples. Another man steps forward to take the boy’s place on my lips. He’s muscular as well—a short, beefy guy with a cue ball of a head. His fingers reach around the base of my dick while the boy sucks on it. He’s an aggressive kisser, too. I moan and lose myself in the softness of his lips.

My power as a sexual catalyst is beginning to work. Men are clustering around us, now. Our threesome is five people, then seven, then ten. There are hands all over my body as men reach out to touch me. Hands on my dick, on my shoulders, rubbing my close-cropped hair. I feel a mouth on my crack, and then hands pulling apart my cheeks. A tongue invades my hole. I don’t know who the fuck it is, and I don’t care. I just know it feels good.

I’m tempted to lose myself in the sexual charge of the surge of men around me, to crowd surf on the crests of sexual pleasure as men go at me, up and down and front and back. But I have a wallet in my pants pocket, so I retain some watchfulness to keep track of that. Still. It’s a fucking hot feeling as the crowd gets bigger and bigger, with the three of us at its center.

Around me the men who’ve been touching me, licking me, tasting me, are playing with each other now. I feel dicks jut into my thigh, bare asses back up against me. The pup abandons my cock and falls back onto the sand with his pants around his ankles. Almost immediately, an older man squats over him and lowers his hole down onto the pup’s face. The bald dude takes the pup’s place on my dick. For a few minutes we swap blow jobs back and forth, while other men touch and stroke me. My bald buddy comes suddenly and without much warning while I’m sucking him. I feel his hands on the side of my head, pulling me in, and then find my tongue covered with a salty bath. He tastes good. I swallow him down, stand up, and share the last traces with a deep kiss. He whispers thanks in my ear, then disappears into the night.

There’s plenty more to enjoy, though.

The pup’s back on his feet. He’s mine once again. The kid actually pushes away whoever’s kneeling behind me and munching out my ass and positions himself between my thighs. I feel his cock stab at my butt. Part of me wants to laugh—he thinks he’s going to dom me? It’s like watching a fucking chihuahua try to mount a bullmastiff. All I’d have to do is shrug and the little runt would fly off. It’s adorable and funny to watch him try, though, so I let him do his thing. He’s so drunk that he doesn’t even know where my hole is; he keeps hugging me around the waist and grinding up against my backside while he searches for it with his little boy dick.

I’m sure to the crowd it looks like I’m getting fucked by the pup, but he’s really not even close.

A hole backs onto my cock. I don’t even know what what its owner looks like. Men are pulling my head to theirs for deep kisses, drawing my hand by the wrist to their cocks, trying to get me to choose them. I pick a guy in leather. He’s in his forties or fifties. Solid as a rock. A built motherfucker. He’s wearing a leather harness and vest, boots, and a leather pouch beneath his jeans—which he loses fast enough. Once the hole’s off my dick, the leather guy bends down to clean me off. His mouth is hotter than even the pup’s.

He and I kiss. His mouth surrounds mine completely as his tongue forces itself between my lips. His dick is thick and rock hard. The prince albert in its head is a heavy gauge, probably a double-zero. I try sucking on his meat for a little bit, but there’s too much metal knocking around in there; I don’t want to have present chipped teeth to my dentist the following week. He loves sucking on me, though. Knowing I have a hot boy still stabbing fruitlessly at my hole and an even hotter leather daddy on my dick makes me feel like the fucking king of Provincetown. My hands grab onto the beam above and I swing back on it, chest and underarms exposed to the ocean breeze.

The leather daddy has had enough of the pup’s impertinence. He swats the boy off my backside and turns me around, then bends me over. My shoulder hits the iron support girder. I gasp when I feel that ring of thick metal press against my hole. I’m thinking there’s no way this guy’s going to be any more successful than the pup. He can shove and push all he likes, but there’s no way my hole is going to stretch for that fat pierced hog. He’s got a bottle of lube in his pocket, though, and an agenda to invade my hole. So I let him keep pushing.

The pup’s on my mouth again. He’s getting off on my grunts as the leather daddy shoves and attempts to buck into me. He pinches my nipples, stares in my slitted eyes. “Take it,” he whispers, over and over again. “Fucking take it.”

Then I do. It’s an unexpected surprise when the leather daddy’s dick just suddenly slides into me. My hole was a barrier moments before. Now it’s an opening, a tunnel, a chute tightly wrapping around the guy’s cock. The prince albert is stretching me like crazy. My eyes fly open, my jaw drops. It’s intense—fucking intense. But it’s not agony. If it were a misery to be plowed by that dick, I wouldn’t be so god-damned rock hard. The pup squeezes my tights harder, making my ass contract.

The leather daddy is coming. He sprays his load inside me. He’s barely been in a half-minute; he hasn’t even slid back and forth. I can feel his dick contracting and expanding as he shoots, though, and I feel the warm juice dripping out of my hole as slowly and carefully he withdraws his dick. I try to stand up, to collect my pants, but the pup’s insistent. The older dog showed him how to fuck; now he’s anxious to try.

I feel the head of his cock push into me, finally finding its warm, wet target. But then he’s climaxing too, even before he’s gotten inside. Maybe he’s turned on by fucking in the other man’s leavings. A spray of the juice joins the leather daddy’s load inside me. The rest of it ends up on my ass cheeks. He hugs me tightly around the waist again as he comes. I feel his furry little face against my back, his seed dripping down my butt and down onto my calves.

I’ve been rigid this entire time. Someone wheels me around so that my back hits the girder. He’s down on his knees in front of me. It’s a silver-haired fox. When he sucks on my dick I can only see the top half of his face, but even in the darkness I can tell he’s mighty good-looking. A gym rat. I rub my hands over his mighty biceps when he reaches up to squeeze my pecs; he’s wearing a sleeveless T for easy access.

I’m getting close. Part of me wants to save the load, to keep going all night. Part of me knows it’s not going to get any better than this moment, though. I feel hands reach for my ass, fingers dipping into my cummy hole. Men around me are discussing in murmurs about whether or not I got bred. I let the hushed gossip float in one ear and out the other. The guy with the biceps is edging me closer and closer to my orgasm. When I come, it sounds loud in the quiet. Yeah, I hear guys whisper around me, encouraging me. Drop that fucking load, someone whispers in my ear. The darkness turns to shades of purple and indigo as I squeeze shut my eyes as I shoot. I can’t tell whether the rush of sound in my ears is my coursing blood or the ocean’s waves. The muscular man sucks me down and keeps his mouth on my meat, nursing out every drop of seed from the tip. Then he withdraws.

Weakly, I lean back against the girder. Someone’s sandy hand closes around my dick. The grains are painful; I wrestle him off and push him away, then cover my junk and pull up my pants. My wallet’s still there, thank god. Even as men still try to convince me with soft hands and sweet whispers to stay, to let them clean me off, to kneel down and take care of them or to turn around again and take another breeding, I fasten my fly. One of my flip-flops is buried in the sand. I find it and close my toes around the thong. Then I detach myself from the crowd and the hands and stagger in the direction of the dock’s far end, and the stairs.

My legs are weak enough that I need to sit in the dark for a moment. From the middle of a pair of cross-braces between posts I watch the army of sex hounds fill the void where I had stood. I can’t see details, but I can see single silhouettes merge with another, then with other pairs.

No one on Commercial Street casts an eye at me when I emerge from between buildings onto the sidewalk. I stroll in the direction of the town’s west end. My hole is sore enough to make me walk more slowly than usual. I’m conscious that there’s a load or two making the seat of my shorts wet. I’m not the only man who’s going to be tottering home from the dick dock with a stain or two, though. Even from a distance, I know the men in that dark crawl space are moving and merging, coming together like molecules in a chemical reaction.

And that night, at that hour, I’d been the catalyst.