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  "Ah...thanks, but..." Alan started. Almost every Friday someone from the office tried to get the young man to join them for a little TGIF recreation, and almost every Friday he tried to find away out of it.

  "Oh, come on, Alan. A handsome guy like you shouldn't be all work and no play. You'll have a great time," Elise persisted. "You used to come with us every week. You haven't in a long time, and we miss you."

  He appreciated the invitation, but sincerely doubted he'd have a good time. Recently he was becoming more and more convinced of something about himself that he was uncomfortable with. This led to increased reticence to join the gang for their ritual Friday celebration.

  "Well, if you're sure?" she said in a coaxing voice. "Thanks, but I'm sure," Alan said, relieved she seemed to be accepting his refusals more graciously of late. "Maybe next week?" she asked.

  "Yeah, maybe," Alan replied.

  She smiled and gave him a little wave as she said goodbye and walked off.

  Alan went back to his work. Several of his other co- workers stopped by and wished him a good weekend. One or two repeated Elise's invite, but not with much pressure. They evidently had heard of his decision not to join them.

  Trent, the good-looking office manager, had stopped to tease him about becoming a stuffy old man at the age of twenty- seven. Alan had laughed with the guy's attempt at humor, but felt distinctly disquieted as he watched him walk away.

  At seven the cleaning staff arrived and Alan decided he had done enough on the account to satisfy his boss, especially since Mr. Jennings wouldn't even be in the office on Monday. Closing the ledger and straightening his desk, the junior account manager said goodnight to the janitors and headed for home.

  * * * *

  "Alan?"

  "Yea, Ma," Alan answered as he came into the house and hung his suit jacket in the hall closet. Dusty, his parents' gray schnauzer, came trotting up to him. He leaned down and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears.

  "Alan," she repeated. He could hear the disappointment in her voice. "I thought maybe you'd gone out with the nice young folks you work with. You never seem to do that anymore."

  "No, Ma," Alan said, heading for the stairs, undoing his tie as he went.

  "Well, I just don't understand," his mother said, coming to the foot of the stairway and calling up after him. "You used to go out with them all the time. Is there something wrong?"

  Is there something wrong? Alan thought. Yeah, there's something wrong! But I'm not going to discuss it with you. "No, Ma, nothing's wrong."

  His mother sighed loudly. "Well, I'll go heat up your dinner. You're father and I have eaten already. I wish you would have called, I could have..."

  Alan had reached his room at the top of the stairs. He went in and closed the door, not hearing the rest of what his mother wanted to say.

  Alan took off his tie and his white shirt, and threw the latter in the clothes hamper next to the closet. Opening the closet door, he hung the tie on the rack. After taking off his black wing tip shoes Alan got out of his trousers and neatly hung them on a wooden hanger so as not to leave an unwanted crease at the knee because he intended wearing them again next week. Black socks followed the shirt into the dirty clothes. As he walked back toward his chest of drawers to take out some clean white socks and a T-shirt, Alan passed his dresser and stopped to look at his reflection in the mirror.

  He was tall. His lean, muscular body filled out the white sleeveless undershirt quite nicely he thought. His white briefs revealed a more than adequate bulge. Alan shook his head. Why was he appraising himself this way? Normal guys didn't check themselves out and give themselves an attractiveness quotient, did they? Sighing, he picked up a brush and ran it through his blond, well-trimmed hair. He finished dressing by pulling on a pair of Levis and returned to the kitchen.

  His mother had set a plate for him with spaghetti with meatballs and a side salad. He thanked her and sat down to eat. Dusty came and sat next to him. His mother was at the sink finishing the dishes.

  "Where's Dad?" Alan asked, between bites.

  "Out in the garage tinkering with the lawn mower. He's having trouble starting it again and he's too stubborn to take it in to be fixed. Why haven't you called Millicent?" his mother continued, turning from the sink as if the two subjects were connected.

  Alan felt a surge of annoyance. "Millie and I broke it off three months ago, you know that."

  His mother walked to the table and leaned on a chair. "Yes, I know and I don't understand why. She was such a nice girl and it was obvious that she liked you. Whatever happened between you?"

  "Nothing." Absolutely nothing if you want to know the truth!

  "Nothing? There had to be something. The two of you seemed to get on so well. Why, I would have thought you'd be at least engaged by now."

  "Who's engaged?" asked Alan's father as he came in. "Hi, Alan. You get engaged?"

  "Hi, Pop," Alan said, laughing. "No I'm not engaged."

  "And that's the problem, George," Alan's mother continued as she went back to the sink. "Arnie's been married for two years. He's three years younger than Alan and he's given me three grandchildren already."

  "That's because he knocked Sarah up the summer after he graduated high school," his dad said. "Move over, Martha, I need to wash my hands."

  "Not in my clean sink! You go into the laundry and use the utility tub. The fact that Arnie and Sarah had a little accident---"

  "Accident," hooted George. "The idiot didn't know enough to wear a rubber. You got more sense don'tcha, Alan? You ain't gonna put no bun in anyone's oven. Right, Son?"

  "George! The way you talk! But that's not the point. Alan isn't getting any younger. He needs to think of his future..."

  "Give it a rest, Ma!" Alan said.

  "Yes, woman, give it a rest. He's got plenty a time," George said as he left the room for the laundry. "Hey, Alan, grab us a couple of beers when you're done and we'll go watch some TV."

  Glad to have that particular conversation shut down, Alan picked up his plates and took them to the sink for his mother to wash. He could tell her feelings had been hurt. Kissing her on the cheek, he said, "Don't worry, Ma. It'll be okay."

  She patted his cheek and sighed, "I know. You're a good boy. You'll make your old mother proud...someday. I just hope I'm not too old to enjoy it."

  Alan laughed and gave her a hug.

  He walked to the refrigerator and took out two Pabst's, then got the bottle opener and popped the caps. He went into the family room to wait for his father. Setting the beers on coasters on the coffee table, he took out the TV Guide. Figuring his dad would want to watch Rawhide, he turned on the TV and dialed to the CBS channel.

  George came in and said, "Not tonight. They're into summer reruns already. Let me see the guide. He took the book from Alan and studied the page.

  "Hey, here's some excitement. WWWF Championship tonight. Bobo Brazil vs. Ernie Ladd. That should be a good match. Whatcha think?"

  Alan didn't think much of the idea, but before he could voice any objection, his dad tuned in the show and settled into his big over stuffed lounge chair. Dusty, who had followed the man into the room, jumped up on his lap and lay down. The announcer introduced the combatants, who walked up the aisle to the cheers and boos of the avid wrestling fans.

  Alan felt a tingle of excitement as the men approached the ring.

  Shit, no. Damn it, he thought.

  The two titans jumped into the ring and threw off their capes, revealing two very muscular bodies already gleaming with oil. Alan took a sip of beer.

  "That Ernie Ladd, he's somethin' else, ain't he?"

  Alan knew his dad was referring to the man's wrestling prowess, but Alan was thinking other thoughts about what qualified Ernie Ladd to be 'something else'.

  The match started. The men circled each other and made ineffective attempts to make the first move. Finally Bobo lunged at Ernie and grabbed him in a classic head lock. It didn't last long and Ernie escaped easily. />
  As the match continued, with George giving as much commentary as the TV announcers, Alan found himself becoming more and more uncomfortable. He was getting a hard-on.

  He crossed his legs, afraid his condition would show. Finally when Bobo reached between Ernie's legs, grabbed his ass, lifted him into the air, slammed him to the mat and fell on top of him so their chests were pressed together, Alan let out an involuntary gasp.

  "Yeah, they can be brutal," Alan's dad said in response. That maneuver ended the match. Bobo had won the championship. Alan sat for a few more minutes, letting his cock soften enough to get up. When he felt he could, he excused himself and went into the living room where his mother was sitting, reading a book.

  "Is that awful wrestling match over?" she asked. "I don't know what your father sees in it."

  "Yeah, Ma," Alan replied. "Uh...I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

  "Oh, my," she sighed. "You're too young to be going to bed this early on a Friday ni---"

  "Ma, don't start," Alan said, bending down to kiss her cheek. "All right, I won't, but I still think that---"

  "Ma."

  She sighed again. "Goodnight, Alan. I'll go in and sit with your father for a while, but God knows, he'll probably be asleep in fifteen minutes."

  Alan went up to his room, took his clothes off, put on his pajama bottoms and went down the hall to the bathroom. He pissed and brushed his teeth. Going back to his room, he closed the door, then pulled the covers back and stretched out on the bed, lying on his back with both hands behind his head. He turned out the light and stared up into the darkness.

  Closing his eyes, unbidden images of the two wrestlers he had just watched on television came into his head. Alan felt his dick begin to harden. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to think of something else: his work at the office. A vision of Trent intruded into his thoughts: his bright smile, wavy black hair, tight muscular ass. He'd stood next to Alan at the urinals once. Trent had a big dick. Alan was completely hard now.

  Giving into his arousal, Alan reached down and pushed his PJ bottoms to his knees. He ran his hands over his smooth abs into his thick blond pubic hair. He grabbed his cock with one hand and began massaging his nuts with the other. He made a small whimpering sound.

  As Alan began a slow rhythmic stroking of his erect dick, images of the wrestlers, now naked, came into his mind. They were no longer fighting, but embracing, kissing, and humping against each other. Alan's excitement increased. His legs began to flex and extend. Suddenly Trent was there between Bobo and Ernie, kissing first one then the other. They in turn were fondling Trent's big boner. Trent was reaching around and running his hands over their muscular butts.

  As his climax approached, the wrestlers disappeared and Trent was holding Alan in his arms, kissing him, telling him he loved him. Alan groaned. His legs stiffened and cum spurted from the tip of his throbbing dick, landing on his chest, stomach and---as the volley's decreased in strength---his bush. The flow finally dwindled to a dribble and ran down his hands.

  Alan lay for several minutes, letting his breathing return to normal, feeling his cock soften and retract. He ran his hand over his cum-drenched torso.

  "No way to deny it," he whispered into the darkness. "Alan, you're a homo." He got up and went to the bathroom to wash off.

  Chapter 3: Study vs. Cruise

  Tom lay on his bed listening to the radio playing a Beach Boys song. The fan droned on and on as it oscillated back and forth, cooling his naked body as he tried to concentrate on studying a chapter in his political science text.

  The poli sci professor and Tom's horniness were the basis for the struggle to focus on the boring material he was being required to learn.

  Professor Barry was the only reason Tom was taking the class. He figured if he had to go to college to avoid the draft and not wind up being sent to Vietnam, he might as well get some fringe benefit from it. The professor was quite a hunk. Tom was sure he wasn't queer. He wore a wedding ring and nothing in his manner remotely suggested to Tom's very accurate sense of a person's sexual appetite that the man was anything but a heterosexual. Nevertheless, seeing him walk across the junior college campus, queer or not, was enough to motivate the reluctant scholar to take what he considered a boring, wasted class.

  However, the images of the man's broad shoulders and deep chest in his tweed suit jacket, shirt underneath open at the collar so a fringe of dark hair spilled out, were causing the young man to care even less about a chapter on the campaign strategies of Eisenhower vs. Stevenson. In fact, Tom's cock was rock hard as he stared unseeing at the book lying in front of him while he stroked his dick.

  Tom hadn't had any action since the beginning of the week when he'd picked up John at the park. And although he had jacked off, as was his usual custom, twice, sometimes three times a day, the only way to adequately quell his overactive libido was some man-to-man sex.

  "Fuck it," he said aloud. "A sunny Sunday afternoon ain't no time to be inside studyin'."

  He closed the book, tossed it on the floor, and swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Looking down at his rigid tool, Tom said, "You need to get buried deep in some man pussy my friend. Or at least get yourself a good blowjob."

  He contracted his abdominal muscles, making the rod bob up and down as if it was agreeing with him.

  Giving his dick a couple of quick jerks, Tom got up and headed for the shower. There he sensuously lathered his body and played with his prick and balls. He brought himself close to orgasm several times, but always backed off just in time so his plan for an afternoon of cruising wouldn't have to be aborted. Not that several ejaculations in a short time were beyond his capabilities, he just wanted to be super horny when he headed out.

  After drying himself, Tom went to the bureau and opened the top drawer. No underwear tonight, he thought. Good thing too, cuz not much clean to choose from. Guess I'll have to chance goin' home and askin' Mom if she'll do laundry for me. The thought of home and his parents momentarily cooled his horny state of mind. His father was a former Marine and not happy with his son's open avoidance of the draft. He believed a real American should be happy and proud at the chance to serve his country, especially when America was at war. When Tom returned home, which he did as infrequently as possible, he had to suffer the veiled references to his cowardice and lack of patriotism.

  Maybe I'll go during the day when the old man's at the factory, he thought.

  The pickings were slim in Tom's T-shirt drawer as well. Finally he chose a tight, white, sleeveless muscle tee. Deciding to wear jeans instead of cut-offs, despite the heat of the late spring day, he pulled them on, letting them ride low on his hips.

  After putting on his socks and sneakers, he went to the bathroom and oiled his hair, combing it into a D. A. with a black curl pulled over his forehead. He stepped back and surveyed the reflection, looking himself up and down, flexing his chest and biceps and turning slightly to make sure his ass showed itself well in his tight jeans.

  "Some horny bastard's gonna be real lucky this afternoon," Tom said approvingly.

  He turned off the fan, radio and light, locked the door and headed out, leaving Eisenhower vs. Stevenson unstudied on the bed.

  * * * *

  Tom covered the three blocks from his apartment to Delph Park relatively slowly. His walk was more of a saunter laced with a swagger. He reveled in the feelings of anticipation and was in no rush to get to his destination.

  When he finally arrived at the end of the long drive that separated the park from the main thoroughfare, he saw three cars parked in the lot.

  Not much action, he thought and then checked his watch. Three-thirty. They'll come in a while, he assured himself, they always do. And when they do, I'll be here waitin' for 'em.

  Tom couldn't see anyone in the main park area. He walked over to his table, climbed up and sat down. Two of the cars looked empty. Tom figured that whoever the drivers were they had probably hooked up and we
re off in the woods getting it on. That thought made him smile and sent a tingle to the tip of his semi-hard prick.

  The angle of the sun made it so he couldn't quite make out if the third car was occupied or not. Just in case it was, Tom made sure he was sitting in a way that would show off what he was offering. He didn't have to wait long. The door of the car opened, a rather short older man got out and approached Tom's table.

  Tom sighed. A troll. I'd have to be pretty hard up to...

  Before Tom could finish the thought, the man stopped in front of the table and asked, "Uh...how's it goin'? Mind if I sit down?"

  Tom looked away from the thin, bespectacled, balding man and said, "Sorry, this seat's taken."

  The troll just stood there for a few seconds. Tom regarded him out of the corner of his eye---not wanting to make eye contact thereby breaking one of the unwritten rules of cruising etiquette: never look at a guy in the eye if you're not interested. Crestfallen and seemingly not sure what to do, the man shuffled his feet.

  Tom felt a slight flutter of pity for the guy, but he wasn't into charity. Why the hell didn't the guy just go away? Hadn't Tom made it clear he wasn't interested? Finally the troll walked away and sat at one of the other tables. Tom went back to his vigil.

  Gotta be better stuff than that out here, Tom thought, his confident mood of a few moments earlier slipping.

  Tom heard a rustle of footsteps and looked toward the path to the west of the picnic area. A man emerged from the woods.

  Damn! Now that's more like it, Tom thought as the guy walked toward one of the cars. He was definitely someone Tom would have enjoyed cruising. Tall and well built with a handsome face, this guy would have definitely filled the bill. He nodded in Tom's direction, got in his car, and drove off. Tom waited to see who else might be coming back to the parking area.