Sex And Moonlight

There is an amazing bookstore on Santa Monica Boulevard, Book Circus. It's open 24 hours a day, and is about 2/3 literature (or more literary books) and 1/3 hard-core pornography. Two of my favorite flavors. I remember going there once in the early '80s, something around 3am, when I had just finished Nabokov's "Pale Fire", and was dying for everything else by him. (He's still one of my favorite writers.) I was looking at "Ada", "King, Queen Knave", and some others, when I noticed a man staring intensely at me. He seemed to be in his 50's, handsome grey hair, beautiful neat & trim curly beard, frumpy flannel shirt and corduroy trousers, loafers. He had a bit of a belly, but had tremendously broad shoulders, strikingly so, especially for his height.

I looked at him for a moment, then looked away, then looked up again to see him staring at me. He walked over, and picked up "Ada", and smiling at me, pointed to a passage he "Thought I might like". It was about a man with a beautiful "eagle of hair" across his chest. Nabokov has always been strangely ambiguous to me sexually, in his writing, no matter how heterosexual it was. I agreed the image was nice, and he grinned. He picked up a copy of Germaine Greer, and showed me a passage on Classical Abyssinian male beard grooming, and I couldn't resist asking "who are you?"

He said that he was a professor, that it "didn't matter, but would I like to come home with him for a while?" I found him strangely attractive, with his combination of Milquetoast looks and broad shoulders, and his deep voice. His hand on my shoulder was enormous, veiny, with broad nails - I felt as though I could almost put both mine in it. He steered me away from the stacks, and we went out to his car. I could leave mine around the corner. The car smelled of pipe tobacco and whisky, not unpleasant - it was an old Mercedes, and he told me we were heading up Laurel Canyon. We went through a dark maze of roads, up and up, and talking all the while, I was getting terribly excited by the whole thing, talking about books and men, beards and what kinds of hair patterns there were - it was as though we had known each other for years. We arrived near the end of a strange, windy road, where hidden in ivy was a classic kooky California architecture house, I was reminded that was a "Richard Neutra."

We went inside, and I was struck by how beautiful and completely messy it was, mountains of books and papers, blue-books from exams from some class, a sunken living room, a glass wall with moonlight streaming in. My friend steered me towards a leather couch, and poured me a glass of whiskey, which I had never had before. We clinked glasses, and I sipped a bit, coughing terribly. He grinned, and put his huge hand on my back and rubbed a bit. I closed my eyes, feeling the burning in my throat, and he suddenly got up and turned on the stereo, and turned off the lights. I immediately recognized the music, "Pavilion of Dreams" by Harold Budd, and he was surprised I knew it. We cuddled against each other, and as I sank deeper into his arms, I felt it. His hands were around my chest, and I could smell his body, the pipe, and could feel what seemed like a vacuum cleaner hose between my shoulder blades. It was getting harder, and I wriggled a bit in his arms, feeling it unfold , and hugging him closer, I bit his thumb gently, tasting some tobacco.

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"I hope you don't get scared easily…" He said, and I pulled myself away, wide-eyed innocent, and asked, "why?" "I'm not that small in some places." The moonlight shone across us like a soft white light, and he unbuttoned his shirt slowly. A thick forest of curly grey fur was uncovered, "I know you like fur, doncha sport!" he grinned, and pulled his shirt out of his pants, arching his back slightly.

His belly was also covered with the same thick fur, and he pulled me back into his arms, where we whispered to each other, my face rubbing into the matted tangle. I felt it again, and licking one finger, slipped it under the waistband of his trousers. I touched what seemed like a slimy light-bulb, and he gently sighed. He pulled me up, and standing up himself, his shirt wrinkled messily about him, he started to take off his trousers, but I stopped him. In the moonlight, I undid the buttons, and the zipper, and slowly pulled them down. He was wearing boxer shorts, which immediately tented out grotesquely. I hoped he wasn't deformed, as he stepped out of his trousers, and took my hand in his, and pulled me up beside the glass wall.

"My turn." He said. He took my shirt off, and gasped at my body, absolutely white and marble-like in the light, a light dusting of blond hair over my chest and sculptured muscles. He turned me around, and taking off my bluejeans, letting them slide slowly and sensually over my ass, the twin cheeks of which he ticked with his fingers and beard, then turned me around again, where I could see his shorts stained with a growing wet spot. I took hold of the top band, my fingers resting in his thick body hair, and slowly pulled them down. A python-thick shaft was gradually exposed, which didn't seem to end until more than halfway down his leg, where it was crowned by a wine-goblet thick head. All of this elephantine-cock was nested in thick brown-grey curls which, while shaggy on his belly and legs, were so dense in his crotch I couldn't even see skin at all.

"It's pretty big," he sighed, "and usually it's just a turn-off".

"Not for me!" I said, my eyes eating it all in. I took hold of the head with one hand, and slowly stroked the shaft with the other, down to the base of what had to be more than a foot long, and as big around as my wrist. The base was as hairy as a scrub-brush, and he shuddered as I squeezed my hand against his belly, only able to get halfway around the circumference. His balls were also extraordinary, and were visibly twisting in their sac with lust as he looked down on me. He took my hand again, and we both sat down on the wooden floor, he sitting with his legs straight out, nice fat hairy belly, beard and enormous rod like some sort of Bacchan satyr, and me with that strange, pale body. I kneeled and licked the head, which by opening my jaws to the maximum, I could get a bit in, and then licked and polished the shaft, but very slowly.

"Lightly, slowly" he sighed, leaning back on his hands. He sighed and took a deep breath, and he base of his belly touched the shaft. He then leaned forward, and took my cock, which though 8", was no comparison to him. He took it in his mouth, his beard against my crotch, and I was faced with him, and by squeezing and breathing in rhythm, I found I could get the head in my mouth, and partway into my throat. It was huge, but could be squeezed, and as I felt it relax slightly and then slide into my throat, and deeper into me, deeper than I'd ever felt, I was seized by the excitement, and immediately shot wads of cum into his mouth - he groaned immediately, but swallowed and sucked out every bit of my spunk.

I had to pull his rod out, and gasped, and he laughed! I apologized for "coming so soon, but it was just so exiting!" He was surprised I could even swallow his cock, and then hugged me against him, were we kissed deeply, and I could even taste a bit of my come. He picked me up and set me in his lap, where I felt his cock, still hard, and my own cock bounced up again into the hair on his chest. We continued kissing for some minutes, while his arms gradually drifted down my back to my ass, playing with it and stretching it with his thick fingers. I knew what was going to happen, which only made me itchy from excitement.

A moment later, he got up and returned with a bottle of oil, and sitting back down again cross-legged, he squirted all over his cock, then leaning back again on his elbows he let me stroke his cock and oil it up, and play with his asshole. I stood up, and oiling my own open asshole, I gradually crouched down on his cock. At first, it was like a joke, like sitting on a wooden rod, but with excruciating pain the head suddenly popped into my asshole, and I cried out loud. I bit my lip, and he stroked my thighs, and then as I finally got used to the sensation, and a wave of voluptuous lust shuddered through me, I then was able to crouch down a bit more.

Finally I was on my knees, with most of the cock in me, his fat belly between my legs, and my hands buried in his hairy chest. He then wriggled his groin, and I felt his cockhead meet another obstacle deep inside me, and I realized it was going to be a bit harder to get it in to the bristles. I waited patiently, squeezing and clutching at his cock with my ass muscles while he sucked my tits, groaning with the pressure I put on his shaft, then just as suddenly as before, I felt myself open up completely, and I slid down the shaft until I could feel his balls against my tender asshole.

The bristly hairs of his shaft were deep inside me, and with triumph, I reached around, and squeezing until he yelled, I was able to force both of his huge balls into what was now an absolutely wide-open fuck hole. His face was a mask of surprise, and then as I gradually bounced up and down, each stroke milking not only his shaft but also his huge balls, squeezed to almost pain, I could see beads of sweat trickle down his forehead in the moonlight. We bounced and fucked against each other for what seemed like hours, and without cumming, we would stop and restart on the couch, me kneeling over the couch while he plowed my asshole like a dog from behind, or out on the patio in the chilly air while I shoved his balls in again, this time facing him.

I don't think I've ever been so thoroughly fucked, or cum before as I did that evening, at least 3-4 times without even touching myself, but I was young. Finally, when I was on my back and facing his huge dog-hairy body over me and his cock-shaft buried deep in my asshole, I could see he was going to come, and I reached around for his balls again, and with a mean, hard slam he sped up incredibly, and then pulled out quickly shooting a violent fountain of sperm all over my already spermy belly.

He squeezed the head, hard, with both hands, and holding the shaft while he shook from the excitement, I jerked myself off again looking at the lurid scene in the moonlight, and just as I shot, holding onto his gargantuan shaft, he started cumming again, to my surprise, a second time, not as much but still with more than a couple of spurts. He grimaced, and became rigid, and then slowly with one hand felt my asshole, and I squeezed as hard as I could around three of his fingers which plunged in, roughly.

He then shot a last small load on my belly, frantically, and slumped back, his cock lying wetly against the wooden floor. I crawled over him, and lay against his stinking sweat-covered body, and drifted off to sleep, the smell of dusty books and sperm in my nose. It wasn't all sun & surf, in LA.

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