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One of my best friends, Scott, was pissed at me. My fiancé, Liz, was pissed at me too.
But they were pissed for very different reasons. Liz, my fiancé, or more accurately, my former fiancé, had just seen a side of me that was apparently dormant and that she sure didn’t like. While we were in the midst of working through why our sex life had collapsed, I was undergoing a lab test to determine if there was any slight deviation from true-straight on my sexuality compass, and Liz walked in on a hunky lab tech, William, fucking my ass like a jackhammer.
As Liz stood there with her pussy dripping with her love lube, previously convinced that I was 100% straight, I was begging William to cum with me and fill my ass with his jiz. I finished by giving him a deep passionate tongue kiss, while I sat impaled on his beautiful cock. Liz dropped my engagement ring on the desk and left.
Since then we have been trying to untangle our relationship. There’s not much chance of a reconciliation and marriage bliss if the only thing that gets me hard is a man and his potent maleness. Liz felt deceived but I honestly had no idea that I liked cock way more than pussy until I got a serious opportunity to try it.
That wasn’t why Scott was pissed at me. Since it was at his pool party, when all of his gay male guests got naked, that my true sexuality kicked in and unlocked a deep desire in me to get fucked and filled with cum by four beautiful men with magnificent cocks.
Scott and I had been best friends for years. Scott was gay and our differing sexualities never got in the way of a beautiful friendship. To me, it seemed unfair to Scott that I discovered my love for cock only after we had enjoyed such a long platonic relationship. But Scott understood and accepted that our platonic relationship never transitioned to a romance. That happens. Besides, he seemed happy with his partner, John.
What upset Scott was the fact that I chose the venue of his pool party to attain the title of Biggest Cum Pig. The owners of the house for whom he was sitting, Pete and Jerry, heard about my escapades and pictured a giant gay orgy with guys getting fucked on their shag rug and shooting loads of jiz on their leather sofas. Scott had to explain to them that I was the only repository of cum, and I happily took it all with me. Pete and Jerry, who knew me from the gym, were extremely surprised that I was a cock lover, after all the women they saw me date from the gym.
So, as I was feeling particularly friendless, I was pleasantly surprised when I got a call from my old girlfriend from college, Rebecca. I hadn’t talked to her in a couple of years. She and I had been hot and heavy in college. I lost my virginity to her. Whenever and wherever we could, we fucked like rabbits. In her dorm bedroom, with her roommate right next to us, in the back of her Chevy, Maverick. I even brought her with me on a family vacation and we ended up fucking in a closet, with my family just in the next room.
She was riding my stiff cock reverse-cowgirl, her asshole spread out in front of me and her pussy clamped onto my cock, when my brother walked into the room. Since we were hiding in the closet, he left to look elsewhere for me. Minutes later we slunk out of the room, smelling like fresh sex, and her panties full of my cum and my cock like a wet noodle.
We had grown apart after college and I had heard she got married. It was nice to hear her voice again as we chatted and caught up. Then she got to the point of her call; she was setting up a life drawing group with several amateur artists and wanted to know if I would be interested in joining. She and I were both art majors – we met in an art class – and one of the main ways we honed our drawing skills was to draw live models in life drawing classes.
She was always a better artist than me in school and I always assumed she would make a career of it. I had a career for a while as a graphic artist but my other interest, fitnesses training, turned into my vocation and art was my avocation. This life drawing group did sound interesting though. I had actually done some life modeling for an anatomy drawing class at an art college, and some private stuff, but it would be fun to be back on the other side of the drawing board. I agreed and showed up at the rented drawing studio that Saturday, with a fresh pad of drawing paper and a box of charcoal drawing sticks.
The studio had a brightly lit stage in the center and about a dozen drafting benches set up around it. There were other artists milling around, drinking coffee and chatting about art. Rebecca walked up and gave me a big hug and kissed my cheek. Man, she still looked great.
She had a Carly Simon-type mouth, silky straight brown hair with blonde highlights and big brown eyes. She’s Portuguese and her olive skin was smooth and soft. She always abhorred makeup and didn’t need it. Her body looked as tight as ever: hard bubble butt; thick, athletic thighs; flat stomach; and tits that were just a little too big for your hands, but were perfect canlı bahis orbs of firm, feminine flesh that were never going to sag.
She was wearing a loose button down over-shirt speckled with paint and charcoal, and yoga tights. Her stretch pants really captured the curve of her ass cheeks and sucked deeply into her ass crack. They were pulled up high and separated her pussy lips slightly, shrink wrapping that labia and pussy slit that I used to be so familiar with. If I hadn’t recently discovered my underlying homo-erotic orientation and affinity for big hard cock, I’m sure I would have tested the nostalgic sex waters with her.
We chatted away and got up to speed quickly. She had been divorced for about six months after a three year marriage, no kids, a French Bulldog and a cat, working at an architectural firm, starting to get her artistic groove back. I told her I ended my engagement recently but I didn’t tell her why. Namely, my fiancé watched me get my ass drilled and filled by a big-cocked lab technician when he was running a sexual orientation test on me, and I actually took a pass on my fiancee’s pussy to get my ass stuffed full of his dick.
While we waited for the life model, who was late, I got to know some of the other would-be artists in the studio. Most everyone was in their late twenties to early forties, had graduated college with some kind of fine arts degree, and wanted to get in some serious anatomy drawing time in the company of other serious artist types.
One guy, Robert, was a firefighter by trade, and had the look of a calendar model. His inverted-U mustache dropped below his full lower lip, stopping short of a cleft in the center of his square chin. His tan skin was offset by his brilliant white teeth, blue eyes and long blond hair.
He was wearing a loose T-shirt but I could tell his chest was stacked with a pair of prominent pecs. His biceps turned into softballs when he bent his arms. His small, rippled waist and V-shaped back were supported by a pair of soccer balls for ass cheeks and thick, rippled thighs. His strategically ripped jeans showed peeks of tan, shaved, silky smooth thigh skin. There was no sign of any under garment to be seen.
Robert’s masculinity was in contrast to another artist, Monique, who’s over the top femininity and sexiness were in abundance. She had silky, raven-black hair to her mid back and long bangs that filtered the view of her big brown eyes. Her eyes were smokey dark and ringed with mascara, with long jutting eyelashes, giving her a permanent sultry stare. Her high cheekbones were lightly shaded and her pouty lips were a neon pink shade of lipstick. She wore a bright pink sweater top with a plunging neckline that barely contained her ample, lush boobs bursting forth.
Monique’s tiny waist was accented by a patent leather, extra wide, white go-go belt that matched her thigh high boots. She had beautiful, shapely, smooth legs that disappeared beneath a very high-hemmed mini skirt. I imagined that her panties were probably visible to anyone one stair below her on a staircase. To top it off she had a big, tight, round ass that switched back and forth when she walked. She looked like she just stepped out of a schoolboy’s fantasy, and at first I thought she was the model.
Rebecca noticed I spent a lot of time looking at Monique and I’m sure she thought I was lusting after her. Rebecca made sure I got a good look at her own camel-toe crotch in her thin stretch pants as she threw her leg over her artist bench. Was she flirting with me? I looked back at Monique, who was a couple of benches over, and she met my eyes with her own and gave me a big, slow smile as she looked downward, less out of shyness and more as a way to display her peacock feather-like eyelids.
Man, if I wasn’t so turned out, I would be all over these hot women. I recalled from my college days the distinct musk of Rebecca’s vagina and how her pussy was so tight we couldn’t fuck more than three times in a night or my cock would be laid up for a week.
Monique looked like she was very sexual. Did she like anal, cum eating, and taking charge in the bedroom? I thought that was a lot to assume from her look but I don’t think she would have minded my fantasy trip. Damn, was I as turned out as I thought I was?
There was the firefighter, Robert. He looked like he could fill my ass with cock and cum, if he was into men. He definitely had a bulge in his crotch that seemed to spread across his entire pelvic region. Every now and then, I thought I detected pink cock skin through some of the stylish rips in his jeans. That would mean he wasn’t wearing any underwear, and that his cock was as big as my electric toothbrush travel case, even soft.
I stood up and discreetly adjusted my cock that was swelling slightly and trying to escape the cock pouch on my spaghetti-strap G-string. Beneath my jeans I was wearing a particularly naughty marble bag of sheer gold colored fabric with thin, gold ass and waist straps. The prominent helmet on my dick head looked really tasty bahis siteleri fronting for my cock and balls in that see-through ensemble. I don’t know what prompted me to wear such a come-fuck-me undergarment. It was just the mood I was in when I got out of the shower this morning and ogled my body in the mirror.
We were all checking our watches and asking each other what they thought was holding up the model. Without the model this would be a huge waste of everyone’s time, and money. Finally Rebecca, who had scheduled the model through an artists’ modeling agency, called the agency to see what was going on. The agency representative said the model was sick and couldn’t make it. They couldn’t get a replacement model to us because it was a weekend and most models want the time off and don’t answer their phones. When Rebecca broke the news to us, people were upset.
One guy had driven two hours to be there. Another had taken the day off from his job. Everyone expressed strong regret that they couldn’t work on their drawing skills. I felt bad for them, and me. We were really looking forward to getting our creative juices flowing.
Just then, Rebecca approached me. She leaned forward to say something quietly to me so I leaned toward her. When she leaned forward and propped herself up on my drawing bench, her oversized button down shirt, which now had several buttons undone at the collar, displayed her chest, tan and smooth, cascading into a soft cleavage. The shirt material hung loosely away from Rebecca’s perfect breasts. What Rebecca’s tits lacked in size they made up for in beauty. Because her breasts weren’t huge, she always got away with not wearing a bra, and her nipples, always prominent, were as big as gumdrops and usually caught the attention of every man in the room. I could clearly see her perfectly formed breasts suspended above the cotton shirt. Her nipples were hard, as usual. She followed my gaze and could tell I was getting an eyeful of her tits. She was proud of them and didn’t do anything to cover them up or dissuade me from staring at them. She was doing some serious flirting with me.
She gave me a wide flirtatious smile with that big luscious mouth of hers and said, “Hey Darren, didn’t you say that you’ve been doing artist modeling yourself? Could we persuade you to be our model today?” The group suddenly got quiet, waiting to hear my answer.
I normally would have been happy to pose for the group. However, I wasn’t sure what the dynamic was with Rebecca. Was she hoping we would be getting together later? I had my sexual history with her and I definitely wasn’t ready to reveal any homo-erotic tendencies, should I happen to get wood when looking at that firefighter, Robert, while modeling nude.
In fact, Rebecca was a link back to my straight, girl-chasing self. This wasn’t just an anonymous group of gay guys who would be really into me getting aroused, like at Scott’s party. It also wouldn’t be like what happened at the psych lab when my sexual orientation test revealed a preference for cock over pussy. When we were dating in college, Rebecca and I thought we were heading toward marriage, but then I broke it off. Since then, I’ve been engaged to three separate women. What is it about me being unable to make that commitment?
“I’m sure that beautiful, masculine body of yours would make the perfect subject for our drawing session today,” Rebecca teased. Now the rest of the group was agreeing with her and nodding their heads. I looked over at Robert and he was smiling at me and started a slow clap that gradually picked up pace. Everyone else joined Robert in the aggressive clapping.
Monique was clapping vigorously now and threw back her shiny hair and let her ample boobs shudder as she clapped when I looked her way. Was I nuts to be seriously considering this? I was feeling like my courage was being challenged, and I always accepted a challenge like that, primarily as a way to cope with my own fear. In this case, the fear was a fear of being naked in public, which I also found secretly thrilling. “All right, lets do this!” I said.
With that the clapping died down and people set their pads of paper on their easels and laid out their drawing and painting supplies. Someone hit the light switch that mostly darkened the room, save for strategic spotlights that shone on each easel-mounted drawing surface. I was brightly lit by theatrical spotlights, as I stood on a raised stage in the center of the room. I could no longer see any individual faces in the room, just a kind of dim grayness, with silhouettes of the artists’ heads, like they were all in a witness protection interview.
I kicked off my slip-on half-boots and pulled my socks off. I pulled my shirt over my head by crossing my arms and lifting the bottom hem upward, like peeling a banana upside down. I could hear some nervous throat clearing and murmuring as I stood there with my smooth, tan torso, and the waist of my jeans hanging just above my public ridge.
My chest was stubble-shaved, with bare circles shaved bahis şirketleri around each nipple. My nipples tended to stand out when I got turned on and now they were standing straight out. My abs were shaved bare except for a thin welcome trail from my navel into the top of my pants. My washboard abs cast little shadows in the bright spotlights. My pecs were pumped and flexed involuntarily when I extended my arms. My arms were meaty and sculpted. I had the muscular body of the ancient Greek statues of athletes, that I so adored.
I started to unbutton the fly of my pants and stopped, remembering the very sexy G-string I was wearing. How would that go over? I’m sure any gay guys in here would love it, I thought. But what would Rebecca think of underwear so obviously intended to excite cock lovers? I couldn’t stop now so I just dropped my jeans to the floor and stood there for a second. My cock was semi-hard and barely contained in the sheer cock pouch. The shiny gold straps of the jock, no thicker than a fat gold necklace, were digging into my ass crack and rectum.
“I usually keep a posing strap on for group modeling and only get nude for private sessions,” I said to the anonymous silhouettes.
“We’d like the underwear off, please,” someone said.
“Yes, we paid for the full Monty,” another chimed in.
“It’s barely covering anything anyway,” someone mocked.
I hooked the waist strap with my thumbs and pulled the G-string straight down, out of my tight ass crack and over my somewhat swollen cock and balls. My cock wasn’t standing up but it was swollen to the point that all 8 1/2 inches were showing and my cock was heavy with blood. It hung down between my legs like a large cucumber. “Oh well,” I thought. Maybe no one noticed I’m a little excited.
“Damn,” came a man’s voice.
“Holy shit,” said another, maybe the firefighter.
“What the fuck?” said Rebecca, standing up. “You want us to draw that, your hard-on?”
As embarrassing as it was being this exposed and on full display in front of these strangers and my ex girlfriend, my cock was still growing, an autonomic reaction to all the attention I was getting. “Surely everyone in the room has seen an erection before,” I said. My ears were feeling hot and my face flushed as I fought the natural shame and embarrassment. My cock was now fully erect, weighty, long and fat. How am I going to live this down?
“Yes, we’ve seen erections before, but not a stiff cock as nice as that,” a female voice said, coming from Monique’s direction.
“Fuck it,” I thought, as I struck an action pose. Life modeling is supposed to be 2 – 5 minute poses in dynamic action-looking stances, or a pose you can hold comfortably for a long time. I was trying to get people drawing and not focused on my hard cock.
As much as I tried to exert myself in these poses, the blood stayed in my cock, hard, heavy, rigid, and the focal point of each pose. As I took more and more strained poses, with my stiff cock so front and center, it was looking like a photo shoot for Robert Maplethorp. “Why was my cock so excited while I was feeling so exposed and embarrassed?” I wondered, working into yet another pseudo-yoga pose with a kickstand.
I had always been turned on by being naked in front of others, but not like this. Being a little humiliated was exciting for me, with both good and bad excitement. I grabbed a chair and leaned into it as if I was about to do a handstand on the seat. I held my position still and my head was facing Robert. He was changing paper to a clean sheet.
He rested his arm on his leg and I was staring at his inner forearm. He had some very masculine tattoos. One wonders what other tattoos he has on that magnificent body of his. Then I noticed a tattoo of a pair of eyes. Wasn’t that a gay symbol? I read that for some, the penis is symbolic of a nose and adding a pair of eyes via tattoo let’s those who are aware know that this guy likes cock.
Did I already subconsciously notice Robert’s gay symbol tattoo before and was just now becoming conscious of what it meant? If I picked up on it earlier without being mindful of it, was I giving him hints that I was interested, without really knowing I was doing it? Time to take a new pose. After another strenuous pose, I realized I had been going at it for almost an hour and it was time for me to take a break.
I tied my shirt around my waist as an improvised modesty skirt. My hard-on had mostly subsided. What an embarrassing ordeal! I drank some water from my gear bag as I wandered around looking at the drawings of me on everyone’s easels.
Some drawings were very referential and realistic and some were more abstract renderings. Some artists showed real talent and others were clearly just hobbyists. I looked over the shoulder of Robert as he organized his drawings. All of his drawings were close up views of my ass, and some of my cock. He even had a detailed drawing of my asshole that filled the entire page. He had realistically captured every fold of skin in my rosebud-like asshole leading to my tunnel of love. If you didn’t know the source subject for the drawing you might think he had drawn the eye of a hurricane. He softened the edges of stark lines and drew a very enticing welcome to my fuck hole.
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