By David Holly
Visit his website at http://www.gaywriter.org
Dill Hartweed is my name, and I have two great loves in my life. One is spellcasting, which I have loved ever since the day I discovered that magic truly can modify our humdrum reality. The other is politics. I’ve been a political activist ever since my senior class took a trip to Washington, D.C., and a United States congressman introduced me to oral man-to-man sex in a Washington hotel room.
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I was going to interview the congressman for my school newspaper. Prior to his arrival, I cast out all baneful influences. The room was shimmering with witchy glamours when he stepped through the door. The enchantments I had released promptly banished all of the congressman’s inhibitions. He looked at me, his eyes alive with romantic allure, slowly undressed, and threw himself naked upon my bed.
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That was a new event in my young life. I had never expected I could summon a demoniurge, but I also felt the irresistible lure of gay lust. Moving in a trance of my own naive design, I opened the drawer where I had secreted my jerk-off lubricant.
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Congressman Dan Stuart took my glistening hand and placed it on his erection. “That’s no banana, son. Keep gripping my shaft with your fist while you go down on the head with your mouth. You don’t have to take it all. Just get a little taste.”
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Still gripping Congressman Stuart’s cock with my fist, I balanced by placing my other hand on his shoulder as I slid to my knees. My hand drifted down his silky back until I was stroking his perky butt. His cock stood solid right before my lips and I slowly touched my tongue to its tip. The effect was electric—more of a lightning bolt. I heard a clap of thunder, and the lights flickered as my tongue tasted Congressman Stuart’s cock.
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I was wearing my magic belt, which protected me from the bolt. I slid my hand under my mattress to touch the wishing stones I had hidden there. They were warm, indicating that the influences were friendly, so I abandoned myself to merry thoughts.
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That one touch of his cock was enough to teach me the direction of my lust. He had me. I was committed to sucking his dick. I kissed the head of it, mouthing it with my tongue and my lips. Without warning, without me thinking about it, Congressman Stuart’s cock was traveling over my lips until I felt the base of his dickhead on the inside of my lips. Of course, Congressman Stuart hadn’t moved, hadn’t forced me, hadn’t stuck it into my mouth. I had done it myself. I pulled back until it was out of my mouth, and as it brushed the outside of my lips again, I realized how much it belonged in my mouth. I wanted to suck it. I wanted to nurse on it, suck it, torment it with my lips, my tongue, and my whole mouth until it erupted inside of me and the creamy spunk coated my tongue and slid deliciously down my throat like a rich, sweet cream.
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Okay, I have three loves in my life: politics, magic, and hot gay sex.
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* * * * *
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In the mellow light of the half-set sun, the valet Robert Fowler strolled out the back door of the mansion, nodded to the security guards, and crossed the lawn. Once beyond the guards’ line of sight, he scurried around the rose trellis and removed a small paper parcel from his pocket. I reached for it, but he extended his other hand. “Jeremy promised that you would pay a hundred dollars.”
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“You’ll be paid,” I assured him, “after I see the booty.”
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Reluctantly, the valet opened the sack and pulled out a man’s pastel blue bikini underpants. He dangled the slinky briefs from the tip of his little finger.
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“Those can’t be a right-wing evangelical homophobe’s underwear,” I exclaimed. “You have got to be scamming me.”
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“Certainly not,” the valet asserted, stiffening as though I had questioned his honor. “These are the skivvies Reverend Beckfort wore during today’s rally.”
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Robert Fowler replaced the evangelist’s underpants in the sack and offered it to me. In return, I handed him a folded hundred-dollar bill. “Please make no attempt to return the underwear, Mr. Hartweed,” he suggested. “It’s best my employer assumes they were lost in the laundry.”
THE END OF THIS SAMPLE
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