Get Along Little Dougie - Part 1

October 1, 1995

Douglas hails from a bad side of NYC, a part of town so ugly and out of touch that they haven't bothered to give it a name. I remember him well from his earlier years: "John," (I thought) "That Little Dougie is gonna come to no good." We called him Little Dougie for two reasons -- one was that you always wanted him to just "git along", preferably someplace in the vicinity of Seacacus, where the perennial summer stink of ancient pig farms seemed to suit his temperament.

Second, I once had the extreme mis-fortune to see him naked.

I had been flirting with this guy for weeks. He was from the Greenwich Village area, near Washington Square. I discovered him when I had turned one corner of the Arch fast on my way to the Pink Pussycat Boutique for an over-priced lavender can of Crisco (no, it's NOT what you think...it involved deep frying and a scavenger hunt that I would either win, or the entire planet would be seized by a Lesser Demon called, as far as I could tell, Trifthanglowthong...but that's a story for another time and place). In my haste I nearly ran him down.

He was wearing these incredibly well fitting pair of pants that showed off his broad hips and bottom to full effect. His sweat shirt and basic blue jean jacket fit his face and personality to a tee. He was about 5' 8" tall (okay he told me this later) and weighed about, oh, 450 pounds. He was solid, had long brown curls, and made me so hot I almost forgot my 3:47 am deadline (something to do with some sort of other worldly time frame, but I wasn't particularly interested in that at the time). Adding to the surrealness of that timeless moment when my hazel eyes met his decidedly blue-greys was the fact he was carrying what looked like a bonsai palm tree, something that I never was clear on, even when we talked later.

It was extremely fortunate for the continued existence of civilization that he turned out to be queer, because if he wasn't the way I acted for the next 97 seconds would have gotten me pummeled into ground beef. As it was he was extremely sweet when, failing to come up with anything better to say, I blurted out "GAH! My goddess, your beautiful!"

He was quick witted. "Sorry, If that's the gender you think we're dealing with here, you're going to either very disappointed...or very surprised."

My heart (and various other portions of my anatomy) soared. "Look, my name is Yohannon..."

He quickly nestled the potted palm under one arm and extended his left hand. Reflexively I reached out and grabbed it, and once again the future of all mankind hung in the balance: His hand was soft, yet strong. As it contacted mine it sent a trill up my arm and straight up and down my spine, and I briefly contemplated chucking all of existence for about an hour and half's worth of incredible sex. "My name is Brad." He kept on holding my hand.

I never was into quickies, though, and the come down from this one would be a doozy. "Brad...look, I can't begin to explain this, but I would dearly love to talk to you sometime. However, if I don't finish what I'm doing tonight, the world's going to end."

His eyebrows went up, and he smiled. "Hey, It's cool...I've had days like that myself."

This was going to get really weird really fast, and I didn't feel like doing a replay of "Who's on First". Reaching into my pocket with my free hand I pulled out my purple fountain pen. Freeing my hand slightly from his, I opened it to expose his plump palm. Briefly, I considered the size of his hand and speculated on an old wives tale as I jotted down my phone number. "Call this number in three days. Please." And I left him standing there, arm still outstretched with the most interesting puzzled expression on his face.

Why three days? Because if I screwed up it wouldn't matter. If I succeeded, I planned to sleep for at least 36 hours.

I slept, I ate, and Brad called on the evening of the third day. Yes, the rebirth symbolism didn't escape me, and I considered that call a just reward for keeping the streets of New York from turning into something resembling runny brie cheese.

I decided not to go into details about why I was running through a gauntlet of junkies, homeless, and tricks in the dead of night, and he returned the favor by never telling me about the potted palm. We hit it off marvelously on the phone... it was nice to see some substance behind the case of mutual lust we both had for each other. It made the prospect of not having sex as interesting as having it.

I'll bet you think I forgot about Little Dougie. Don't worry, I'm getting to it.

A case of mis-aligned schedules was the only thing keeping us from boffing each others brains out that very night. Which worked out well..while I was far younger and wilder than I am today, I was already tiring of mindless screwing. It was nice to get to know someone first...and waiting five weeks worked out well.

We finally made a date for late April. Our nightly talks had us to an almost fever pitch of sexual tension, our fantasies were almost perfectly synced. Oh, we knew full well reality would have us laughing at our initial clumsiness...but at least we knew it would be laughter, and not some uglier response.

We decided to do it right, make an evening of it. We were becoming real friends, which was nice, and decided to "date". I was nervous those last few days beforehand, as I had plenty of women, but men? This was new and interesting in ways that I had never thought possible.

I was horribly inexperienced in men in general. I had known for years, perhaps since puberty, that I was interested in boys, but thanks to the fact that society has this odd thing about guys having sex with each other (unless they enter the boy scouts or the priesthood, of course!) I had a much more developed sense of comfort dealing with women then with men.

You'd be amazed at how many times I changed my clothes. I simply couldn't just be myself and "just get dressed": I had to attend to every detail as if I were back in high school again (ack!!!). Even though we had been talking for weeks, I found myself rehearsing those critical opening lines all the way to the restaurant.

Fortunately, I got there, saw Brad, and it took about fifteen minutes before I could produce any sound other than "Hi!" and assorted other odd mumblings. He thought it funny... I was mortified. Fortunately, a glass or two of Guinness Stout mellowed me right out, and we spent over two hours just telling each other stories from our earliest memories to our strange school life. I have to admit I still didn't tell Bradd about some of my stranger experiences, as well as my side line, as lucrative as it was strange, in...well, it got me into some trouble with some demons, a group of cultists who believed that an oversized banana slug was the creator of the universe, and a Wayne Newton impersonator with delusions of grandeur...to name a few.

However, my life was interesting enough without venturing into *that* territory.

We finally got up to leave, when Dougie entered this otherwise wonderful picture.

Now, Dougie was a freshman at the school about two miles from the state college I attended. They looked down on us as queer trash, too poor to attend their school. We were somewhat amused by all of this, as we knew full well that the only reason they attended that school was because they would have been rejected from any decent private school at the same price. In return, they got impressive sets of marks against a third rate education at suggested retail price. I often wondered if mummy and daddy felt like their little darlings were getting a Columbia style education if they paid that much money.

Of course, the main order was denial in large doses for the attendees. Dougie was no exception. He was an uptight, officious, anal retentive homophobic pig. He would come to the state school constantly to queer bait us, and had the money behind him to get him out of the trouble he would cause.

However, this was over 20 miles from the street me and Brad were walking down. So I thought I was hallucinating when I heard what sounded like his grating pseudo-macho tones over the usual strange sounds of NYC: "Hey, Purchase faggot! See you had to settle for a fat slob tonight...what's the matter, too late to pick up a nine year old?"

I had a much shorter fuse then, and was VERY insecure about my sexuality. The pedophilia slam was especially hard to deal with, as my sisters had been sexually abused by my step-father (who was as straight as they come, by the way). I felt my face flush, and I turned to face him.

The bastard already knew I had scored a direct hit, and was practically chortling with glee. Strange, I don't think I had ever seen someone chortle before, and I realized it wasn't a pleasant expression at all.

I don't know what I was going to do: Scream at him perhaps. I was pretty good at extremely cutting insults, even then, but it would've been beyond his mini-micro encephalic sense of comprehension. Dealing with demons was easier.

It was the sound of Brad's voice, strangely calm, that stopped me. "Friend of yours, I presume?". I looked at him sharply, then saw that he was being sarcastic. I wondered how he could be so calm as Dougie kept making disingenuous "fudge packing" comments. "An asshole from M------ville College. He's no one's friend. I'm surprised to see him anywhere near the city without his asshole friends."

Bradd then grinned. It was a feral sort of grin, one that I hadn't imagined him capable of. "Well, then. This could be fun."

He moved faster then I thought was possible according to the laws of physics. If not for the fact I saw those laws broken on a regular basis, I probably would have freaked totally. As it was I watch in awe as he bounded across the street in but a few leaps and grabbed Dougie before he even had a chance to stop that ridiculous chortling I was just complaining about.

Dougie reacted as expected. "GET YOUR COCK SUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME YOU MOTHER FU..." screeched forth from his mouth, until his eyes suddenly rolled back into his head. Brad removed his thumbs from the points on Dougie's neck where he had pressed down. "Cartoids," he explained. "It should give us more than enough time."

"Time enough for what?" I was more intrigued. Puzzled, but definate ly intrigued. I didn't think Brad was capable of killing anyone (he wasn't), and wasn't sure that I would care if he did in Dougie, especially if he was responsible for that girl killing herself after an "alleged" date rape. Of course, it was quieted up quickly, including an "expose" in my own schools newspaper. I was one of maybe a dozen people to read the paste-ups before they were "seized" and destroyed. Oh, I still wasn't 100% positive... If I was, I'm sure I would have made Dougie's life a lot more difficult. But without proof, I wasn't going to take on any more kharma then I absolutely had to.

Yet if Brad took care of Dougie, it was no skin off my next life to sit back and enjoy the show.

Brad grinned at me as he tossed Dougie over one massive shoulder, revealing the strength hidden under his rolls and folds of fat. I actually envied the bigot for his position. "To get this man somewhere where we can continue this... privately," he grunted as he began to walk quickly down the street.

I followed. Even unburdened I had to *work* to keep up, practically jogging alongside of him. We must have run three blocks, when we came to a steel door. Brad pulled out a set of keys and unlocked three locks (this wasn't unusual in NY) with three different keys. The door swung open, and I saw a set of stairs that disappeared into a dim basement.

We both went in, Bradd still unconscious and over Brad's shoulder, and closed and triple locked the door behind us.

It doesn't matter where you go in NY -- basements have a certain musty odor about them, a dampness that reminds you of subways in the spring. This one was no different, though it wasn't as strong as it could be. It certainly smelt cleaner than the subways did.

When we reached the bottom step, Brad hit some light switches and opened another door. After the dim light of the stair well I had to quint at the sudden light. As my eyes adapted, I began to make out the various objects and furniture throughout a fairly large room.

At the time I had little experience in places such as this. It was a very well equipped "play space" (though it was years before I heard that term used for the first time). There was some equipment for people to boff in positions I had yet to even have wet dreams of. Swings, tables, benches, chairs, pillows, and eye-hooks placed anywhere there was a solid purchase for one. Even though I had never been in such a place before then, I had no doubt that this was a place for wide scale and intensive fucking. I just never imagined someone of Brad's size being privy to something like that.

I was glad to learn I had a lot to learn.

Brad took Dougie, who was just beginning to stir, and tied him to one of the narrow benches. He then placed a gag in Dougie's mouth...something I had always wanted to do. He then walked over and closed the door to the stair well, which I saw was at least 6 inches thick and (no doubt) sound proofed. I was unlikely that no one at street level would be able to hear Dougie screaming at the top of his lungs, and certainly not while gagged.

Once he had secured the door, Brad walked ver to me, swept me into his big, strong arms, and gave me the kiss I had been DYING for since the night I had almost sent him and his palm tree flying... though I know thought that if I HAD run straight into him, I would have bounced off. This man was STRONG.

I have to admit, I wasn't very certain of that first kiss. I was still nervous. He picked up on it immediately, and guessed part of the problem right off. "Oh, don't worry... I'm not going to kill him or anything. I won't even do him any permanent physical damage. I just think he could use a few lessons in humility."

I nestled into his soft chest. It was broad, but now that I was this close I realized he had something resembling breasts. It was a bit startling in contrast to the hard on I felt jabbing me through both our pants. "Well, actually, I'm also a bit intimidated. You're a *lot* more experienced than I thought, and I, well..."

He hushed me, placing one of his warm hands over my mouth. "It's okay...I like you. Sex isn't everything, after all... if you wouldn't hang with a lover as a friend, why would you be that vulnerable?"

He looked up at Dougie, who was just beginning to come around. "First, let's get Dougie into prime viewing position." He walked over to the table Dougie was tied to. There were controls that rotated it like some sort of prop from Frankenstein, so that Dougie was facing forward. He walked beck to me, turned to Dougie, and said loud enough for him to hear, "Well, first let's show our little internalized homophobe what he's going to get... if he's lucky." With these words he began to undress. Slowly.

As each article of clothing came off, I felt myself become more and more aroused. His body was smooth and firm, and very well proportioned. It was all I could do to hold still and wait for his next direction.

When he dropped his pants, and I realized that he wasn't wearing any underware, I gasped. His cock was a good 8 inches long, and not so wide as to be frightening... but wide enough to wonder if I could handle it. It certainly was a lot bigger than any of the dildos that I had been experimenting with.

And it was VERY erect. It poked out from under his full, round belly by several inches. I felt myself squirming to get my hands on his body.

Dougie was now fully conscious, and screaming around his gag. Brad looked at him and said, "Pay attention, Dougie boy... you're next."

This only made Dougie struggle harder for some reason.

Thus the fun began...

(to be continued!)