Playgirl
By Gwen Masters

(2nd Place Winner in the 2nd Annual Torquere Press Do-It-Yourself Erotica Contest)

 

Allanís wife was gone for the day.

Sharon was going to the salon to get her hair done, to have her nails painted, to have her toenails shined and buffed so that she would look good in sandals. She would sit in a plush chair among the scents of chemicals and perfumes and she would talk about him with all the other women, gossip about all the husbands.

He watched the clock until he knew she was at the salon. He called, just to be sure. He asked if there were any cancellations for the day and the friendly woman said no, they were completely booked. He heard laughter in the background.

He hung up the phone and locked the door.

Sharon kept her old stash of magazines under the bed. The first time he discovered them, they were both in college and she was a firebrand even then, a woman who defended herself even while she blushed from head to toe.

ďMen can hide their Playboys. Why canít I hide my Playgirls?Ē she pouted.

Allan knelt beside their bed and pulled out one of the magazines. Within moments he was naked, on the middle of the bed and slowly flipping through the well-worn pages.

There was a man stroking his cock. He was looking at the camera and licking his lips. There was another, standing proudly beside a fencepost.  Another, lying back in a bath full of bubbles, his erect cock rising above the water.

That guy in the picture wasnít the only one who was erect.

Allan played with himself. He wished he had a magazine that showed what he really wanted to see, what he really wanted to feel. Men with cocks sliding against other cocks, male lips wrapped around them, or pictures of a cock plunging deep between two firm cheeks. He stroked his cock and closed his eyes, the Playgirl pin-ups forgotten. 

Allan was lost in the memories of the one night he had played out every fantasy he possibly could during those stolen hours. That night long before he met Sharon, when he stumbled into a bar that happened to cater to the alternative lifestyle (how he chuckled at those words). The night he was hit on by a man with blue eyes and a shy smile. The night he finally found a reason for that emptiness and restlessness he had felt inside for as long as he could remember.

The hotel room was nice enough, quiet and very private, which was exactly what he needed. The first time he slipped the manís cock into his mouth, he came. He rubbed his cock against the side of the bed, an accident really, and he came. The man had laughed, not unkindly, and asked him if he could come again soon.

Because he had plans for him. If he could.

Allan could, and he did.

Now Allan slowly jerked his cock, thinking about it. Remembering the taste of semen in his mouth. Remembering the way the man had held his head tightly against his belly and thrust his hips upward, pushing deeper into his mouth, deep enough to make him gag. Then even deeper and he realized it wasnít that hard to deep-throat a cock. It didnít take much in the way of technique, just enthusiasm.

Then came the best part of all, the thing Allan liked most. The man on his knees in front of him, slowly licking him up and down, both of them watching his cock rise. Then the softness of the manís mouth, the rough velvet of his tongue, the wet warmth that engulfed his cock and made him shake with the thrill of it.

Allanís hand moved up and down. Faster now, keeping pace with his breathing. The slickness spread down his cock. It felt almost like that slick mouth on his cock, but not quite...not quite. The manís mouth felt better, wet and deep and vibrating around him with the sound of a moan. The need to come had built inside like a spring, tensing every part of him and especially that one part, and then the man slid his hand beneath him and tested the weight of Allanís balls in his hand...

Allan groaned and came. He came all over the sheets that Sharon had just washed. He came all over himself, the little pearl drops catching in the hair of his chest. He came while he thought about the way that man had swallowed all of what Allan gave him, how he had sucked hard as if he was asking for more.

And somehow Allan had given more. Allan looked down at his cock, glistening and still hard. There were more memories to be had, memories of how he had come that last time in that hotel room. Memories of the way it felt when the man did that...and when he did even more than that...and the rush of freedom that came when Allan cried out under him, not caring who heard.

Allan closed his eyes and began to stroke his cock.

Long minutes later, Allan looked again at the Playgirl Magazine. He flipped through the pages. There were men in every position imaginable but there wasnít a single one on his knees, worshipping a cock. He was already tired of looking at naked men. He wanted to see naked men in action.

It was time to find a place to hide his own magazines.

 

Copyright 2005, Gwen Masters. All Rights Reserved.